#please take my phone away from me like dear god I am more inclined on opening l&ds because I accidentally used my 3 day aurum pass

[kkotda]

Sylus in that one memory thingy where he and mc are hiding in the closet is so hot to me like I cannot explain it but I don’t have to because if y’all watched it, I am very confident y’all would understand :,)

[erensproudsimp]

One Night Stand

Gojo Satoru x reader

⚠ Sexual Content Ahead ⚠

Summary : Working as a stripper, it was your job to please men for your daily bread until the day you met a handsome man offering to give you a ride back home, naughty things happening along the way.

Word count : 2.4 k

Looking at yourself in the mirror in the changing room all decked up in your glittery lingerie, ready to put on a show for disgusting men. Painting your lips a bright red, you smacked them together to spread the colour. Being a stripper sure brought a lot of money in which made you so happy but the fact that you had to please men for it didn't sit right in you. Taking a deep breath, you exited the room, your five inch heels clacking the surface with your each step. Gesturing your colleagues a 'hi' by waving your hand, you entered the area where the clientele would be.

Electronic music echoing around the entire room, gracefully you walked to your respective pole with the other stripers going to theirs. Prepping yourself up and warming up a little, you made sure you were perfect to earn more money. Led lights falling on your being as you were made among the centres of attraction for people to feed their eyes on your show. Placing your manicured hand on the cold pole, the other on your hip, you waited for people to enter the club so that you could start dancing. Your golden lingerie really brought out your curves and your sex appeal. Sparkling under the stage light, feeling like the bad bitch you are, you could bet your ass that money would be flying like nothing in your pockets.

Once people started entering the club, you started your performance to attract them to you. Gliding your heels on the floor, you split your legs, synchronizing your movements to the beat of the song currently being played, your sensuality bursting into the most vibrant dance. Your legs extended like a primal ballerina as you stood up, brushing your hair off your face before dragging it down your chest to finally grab your pole.

For the most part, you felt as though the front people were your main audience unaware of two bright blue eyes analyzing your every move. As you turned your body, your eyes caught caught a man sitting not far away in the back, him less adept at hiding his gaze than you. He had the kind of face that made you stop in your tracks. One glance at him was enough to make you fall on your knees for him. He dropped his eyes momentarily before looking away, his head tilted on one side supported by his arm placed on the couch, a hopeful smile playing on his lips as he pushed his dark glasses back.

Ignoring him, of course, you continued dancing making old men's pocket hurt. At some point, you became bored with staying on the stage and got off to approach your clients closer. Catwalking nearer to the man who caught your attention, you halted to the couch beside him where a blond man wearing glasses was drinking what seemed to be a glass of whiskey. Licking your lower lip, bending down to drag your index finger on his cheeks, you saw in the corner of your eye, the white haired man staring at you with a frown. More money thrown you, you sat on the man still sneaking peaks at your main interest for the night to see if your actions were affecting him.

Not so long later, you got bored of the blond guy, blowing a kiss at him, you finally went over to your target. Oh lord, to say he was just handsome was an understatement of his true attractiveness. He was beyond gorgeous, having the beauty equivalence of probably a god, he was radiating so much power. Dressed in a tight white shirt half buttoned, his abbs see through, with black pants, he laid on the furniture with crossed arms. However, upon seeing you approaching him, he opened them, placing them on the couch beside his shoulders.

Sitting next to him, you inclined yourself towards him, your hand on his thigh.

"Enjoying this night?"

"Now that you're close to me I sure am enjoying it more," he flirted.

"Oh really, is there any other thing I can do to make your night even better handsome?" you cooed in his ear.

"Hoooo? you'd do anything?"

"A n y t h i n g."

"Well then if you're insisting, please yourself on me, that would make me happy", he smugged.

Something about him was so alluring, from his appearance to his melodious voice, it made you want to know how his lips move in a kiss, how his hands move around your curves.

"As you wish dear sir."

Wasting no time, you hopped on his lap, your legs spread on his each side. Your hands resting on his shoulder playing with his hair from the back, you gazed into his eyes, his glasses falling his nose bridge. Irises so blue, as though containing all the blues of the sky to the ocean spanning the galaxy. Hell, they might even be the definition of a black hole due to their insane gravitational pull though which anyone could be sucked into.

Straddling his thighs, you rocked your hips back and forth, you grinded on him.

Just swaying to the music in the background, you traced his jawline with your tongue. Not even once did the man touch you as he just watched you do whatever you wanted. His smirk was like liquid adrenaline was being injected into your blood stream making your body tingle.

"Look at you, ignoring your work to grind on me, what a dirty slut you are", whispering in your ear he grabbed your hips to lift you and turn you so that your ass was right on his growing bulge.

Raising yourself up and down, you bounced on him. Intoxicated by the alcohol and cigarettes in the air, your vision blurry, hands moving down your boobs to your waist. Twerking on him, you felt him growing bigger. You bent back, your head placed on his shoulder, giving him a subtle smile. His hot breath fanned on your face, he smelt like booze with a faint vanilla. Cupping your breasts with his big hands, you slapped them away as you stood up to sit next to him. Kissing his cheek with your one hand on his other side of his face, you felt something entering your bra; the man was stuffing a bundle of money in.

Wingling your fingers, you waved him bye as you were going in the changing room to freshen up yourself. That was a lot of money he gave you, you thought while counting but there was one odd thing in it.

There was his business card in it. There was his phone number in it. Was this his way of telling you to contact him?

Shrugging your thoughts off, you typed him a message.

You : Hey handsome, so what's up with the business card?

Him: When does your shift ends?

You: Midnight.

Him: Great. You'll see a white limousine outside. Wanna come in for a ride at home?

A gorgeous man offering to give you a lift? Damn you couldn't miss this opportunity.

You: Sure thing, see you later.

After fixing your makeup and adjusting your clothes, you went out to slay the night until your little date. You couldn't wait until then.

When your shift was finally over, you rushed to change into your black mini satin dress you wore coming to work as well as ensuring you looked charming.

Your black handbag over your shoulder, you went outside, the fresh air of the cold night hitting your face. Lungs feeling so fresh, you were excited to see him again.

Indeed there was a white limousine parked at the entrance of the club. Upon seeing you arrive, the man asked the driver to unlock the doors so as to let you inside.

"Thank you so much for this offer, Mr?

" Oh please, name's Gojo Satoru but you can just call me Gojo", he said loosening his tie to remove it. Goodness, that was hotter than the core of the earth mixed with the sun's heat.

"Sure thing, Gojo~", seductively you said while you took a place on a seat beside him.

"Care for some wine?" he demanded while pouring a glass.

"Why not?"

"So, where do you live?" Gojo asked handing you the glass.

After telling him your address, he signaled the driver who understood the message and pulled up the black windshield to leave both of you in private.

The bitter yet sweet liquid warmed your body making you feel more relaxed after a long work. Throwing your head back, you let the wine disperse in all your veins, Gojo watching you while drinking his.

"I loved your lapdance, it was so erotic and you looked so...hot," he complimented scooching closer to you.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, he removed his glasses to place on the counter nearby. He stroke a finger down your throat, making you shiver. Holy shit that felt good.

"Not going to lie but you caught my attention the moment I saw you dancing on the stage. That golden lingerie hugging your perfect curves was enough to make me drool for you", whispering in your ear while his hand was sliding the strap of your dress off your shoulder.

More shivers down your spine.

Leaning in his touch, your hands reached to unbutton his shirt. Lips on your neck. Hot. Sinful. Goosebumps rose up your flesh. Gojo's shirt was on the floor, his chest threatening to make you swoon. It was so hard not to stare at the most beautiful male body you've ever seen.

"Love what you're seeing?" his voice came out husky.

"Very much", you replied before colliding your lips with his.

Big, warm hands stroke up your torso to cup your breasts. You jerked at the bold move, moaned in his mouth.

Feeling his smirk, he pulled back trailing his tongue down your neck to your collarbone before drawing back. As you straightened your back, his hands unzipping your dress.

His eyes went big when he saw that you weren't wearing a bra. His gaze caressed your plump boobs. Wasting no more seconds, he attacked the area with his mouth making you yelp.

"Fuck's sake, you're so gorgeous", he complimented in between sucking your nipple.

Your stomach clenched. Never had you craved a man with such hunger, never had you been more aware of your own femininity so much.

Pulling away, Gojo turned to take something from the table counter behind him. Taking this moment to take a deep breath to calm your quick heartbeats, you removed your hair from your face. Curious to know what he was doing, you tried to sneak a peak until he turned around to face you, in his hand, an orange slice.

Your head was filled with questions.

"Open your mouth", he ordered and you obeyed, of course.

"stick your tongue out."

Doing as he asked, you took it out as he pressed the fruit on it making its juices spreading throughout your mouth, even spilling down your jaw to your neck. The citric acid running down your skin so slowly as Gojo trailed his tongue down chasing all the droplets, his other hand holding your head by your hair.

"Hmmmm"

"You really like me licking you huh?" Gojo smirked.

"Ooooooohhh"

Unbuckling his pants, he slid them down leaving him in his boxers, his hardened dick pressed, like you were in your soaked panties. Unable to resist the temptation, you pulled them down releasing it from its trap. His dick sprung free, Gojo could no longer contain the heat he felt inside of him to bury himself deep in you.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked before taking off your underwear.

"Why would I after how wet I am for you?"

Loving your answer the man tore the cloth from you revealing your soft folds to him.

"I hope you can handle me, I'm not going to go easy on you~", Gojo warned teasingly placing his member at your entrance.

"Go ahead, let's see if you can wreck me because I'm pretty sure I can handle you", you sneered.

"Heh~ well, we'll see about that in a few", he said before thrusting into you without any warnings.

"Ah!"

Throwing your one leg on his shoulder to gain a better position to fuck you, Gojo was not slow into gaining speed. This man was like an animal, so violently pushing and pulling in and out of you.

Your moans and heavy breaths was so loud, you were sure that the driver was hearing everything but Gojo didn't care about it one single bit. All that mattered to him at that moment was to fuck you into oblivion.

Right before either of you could come, Gojo pulled out to turn your body on the car couch, your boobs pressed against the leather, your ass lifted up as Gojo inserted himself again in you. This time you couldn't help it but let out whimpers.

"What's with the whimpers? I thought you could handle it, didn't you say so?" he ridiculed you.

Lost in a haze, you could barely hear his words, only feel his thrusts deep in you. He didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

He grabbed your hand and pressed it against your stomach.

"Can you feel how deep I am into you right now? You like it don't you? Being fucked like the shameless whore you are?"

"Ahhh-yes I do, I do."

Feeling your climax getting closer and closer, you gripped the couch for dear life as you were going crazy with this insane anount of pleasure.

"Ah- Gojo-I-I'm-"

"It's okay my love, you can release it, I'm close too."

It wasn't long before you were screaming his name as he filled your insides with his hot fluid. Pulling your hair as he did so, he collapsed on the couch beside with you laying on top of him rubbing circles on his chest.

Remembering that you had to get off to go home, you took your clothes from the floor and wore them while Gojo was admiring you.

You wished that this could last forever but alas it was just a one night stand as Gojo left you at your home saying a final goodbye to never meet again.

End.

Thank you for reading this. :)

[professorrw]

Mistakes, a Loki One-Shot

Warnings: Angst, Smut, attempted murder, mentions of death, enemies-to-lovers

Request: “Can you do a Loki one shot? enemies to lovers troupe? a lot of angst pls -moon”

Word Count: 2195

A/N: I hope this was good! I’ve never written angst so I tried my best! And yeah, Loki doesn’t hate Y/N, it’s more like she hates him in the beginning but I tried. If you have any tips please message me or comment! Reblog and like if you enjoyed!

Loki, God of Mischief. During his attack on New York he managed to kill 80 people. One of them being your mother, your anchor. She had been with you through it all. She supported you no matter what. When you wanted to enlist in the military she let you and when you were discharged she was still there for you. 

When you left the Marines you began to work as a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent. Your current assignment was to watch over Loki, who was being held at the Avengers base. The assignment was perfect. You could finally get revenge on Loki for taking away your only family.

If any of the Avengers found out about your mother’s death they probably wouldn’t let you watch him. And they shouldn’t. When you got the chance, you were going to kill him. It didn’t matter that you might go to jail or get fired. He deserved it, and you were going to serve the justice your mother and all his other victims deserved.

Monday rolled around and you arrived on the base. Loki would be held in a room made of see-through electric walls. Even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to escape. You were in control of the wall. If you wished, the walls could be lowered. Eventually, you would lower them. Not for Loki to leave, but for you to enter.

You sat with your feet lounging on the desk in front of the “cage.” Loki was standing in the middle, watching you. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of speaking to him. Hell, you avoided looking at him. 

Hours passed by silently and you left your post. You had the surveillance cameras hooked up to your phone so you could watch him while you were away. You slipped into bed in the room you were assigned and went to sleep, thinking of your plans.

The next morning was just as uneventful as the previous day. It wasn’t until noon that something happened. Instead of standing in the middle of the room, Loki approached the wall nearest you and spoke, “You seem to disdain me more than your fellow Avengers. I don’t recall ever doing anything to you. I would remember seeing such a beautiful face.”

You ignored his comment and turned your face away from his smirking one. You were told he had a knack for getting under peoples’ skin.

“You want to be silent? Very well. I’ll admire you from a distance then.” He returned to the middle of the room but continued to watch you with a thin-lipped smile. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but wonder if his legs ached from standing so long.

As Loki said, he didn’t bother you for the rest of the week. You kept your mouth shut and tried to avoid his gaze the whole time. There was an incident when you were coming back from getting lunch and happened to glance at him, already looking at you. He seemed to find pleasure in the quick turn of your head when your eyes met. No doubt, just as the other Avengers promised, he was trying to get under your skin. You were used to having people scrutinize your every move, but what Loki was doing felt different. 

To your dismay, when you returned to your desk the following Monday, Loki decided he wanted to bother you.

“It’s terribly lonely in here. Why don’t you join me?” He knew you weren’t going to answer but he still prodded you. “What’s wrong dear? Afraid I bite? I promise it’s only lightly.”

You gave him a cold scowl and returned to the book you were reading.

“You enjoy reading? Do enlighten me on the title,” he asked. Unlike the way he was speaking previously, he seemed genuinely  curious to know. Who knew a god would be interested in books?

Even though you told yourself you wouldn’t utter a word to him, you decided to tell him what you were reading. “Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare.”

He responded only with a hum, as if he was thinking it over. You raised your eyebrows, expecting him to say more about your sudden inclination to speak to him. He didn’t say anything else though, and returned to look into your eyes with a searing intensity.

He remained silent for the duration of the day, which bothered you more than his speaking evidently. You had to admit, sitting there for hours was boring but it would be worth it in the end. 

Another week passed before Loki decided to speak again.

“You dislike talking to me and looking at me.” He said it as if it was a fact. Which it was.

“What did I do to you?” He said this with an earnest tone. He genuinely wanted to know. It was eating at him that such a beautiful creature would feel such hatred towards him.

He let out a sharp sigh and decided to give him what he was searching for. “During your little rampage in New York, you killed my mother. I’m sorry if I don’t act friendly,” you spat.

For a second he looked taken aback. Even though it was only a fraction of a second you caught it. Did he not realize the damage he had caused? Surely he wasn’t that thick-skulled, you thought.

“I apologize, I wasn’t aware.”

“Of course you weren’t. You were too busy trying to take over Earth to take into account that you were killing people,” you scoffed. “And don’t act like you’re sorry. I know you aren’t. You can’t begin to understand the pain I felt and still feel.”

“You would be wrong there, dear. My own mother was killed. It was my fault; a foolish mistake.” He muttered the last sentence and you had to strain to hear it, but you did. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of… empathy?

“Well I’m sorry. That doesn’t excuse what you did though.” You were sorry. Not that he deserved to hear your apology.

“I did not dare think it would. You should not feel so alone, dear. I share your emptiness.” His words caught you off guard. He was right. A part of you did feel empty. But you weren’t one to admit that you were aching for someone or something to fill that gap. Your mother was your support system and since she died you were alone. You had friends, but none close enough that you would relay so much person information to. People tried to comfort you but at the time nothing made sense. You were a ball of anger and sadness that never got to let go of your grievances. The feelings inside of you never came to the surface, you carried them with you, just for them to haunt you at night.

You didn’t want to say anything back in fear he was still trying to pick you apart and tear you down. “He’s a villain. He’s done terrible things. He killed your mother,” you kept repeating to yourself. You weren’t about to let Loki make you vulnerable. You had a personal mission to carry out and it would get done. You decided to quit talking to him for now on. You couldn’t start being friendly. You especially couldn’t let yourself be attracted to him. That would be your downfall. Although you did feel empathy towards him, you wouldn’t let anything else happen.

“What am I doing?” you thought as you arrived back in your bedroom around a week later. Your mouth didn’t like to listen to your head. You found yourself talking to Loki when he spoke to you. Talking to him. Answering his questions. You promised yourself you would put an end to him soon. If you didn’t want to fall deeper into the trap that is Loki’s charms, you would have to kill him soon. Things had gone too far already. “He is a terrible man,” you reminded yourself once more.

You laid in bed watching the security cameras for hours. You had to wait until him and all the other people in the building were asleep. It was 2 in the morning and Loki had been asleep for hours. Surely, everyone else had been too.

You stalked through the halls silently as you made your way to the “cell.” Sure enough, Loki was asleep in the small bed, laying on his back to your luck. You quickly lowered the electric wall nearest you and walked into the dark room. You pulled out your knife and steadied yourself. Finally, you could have peace. 

You leaned over his body, trying to avoid looking at his peaceful face as you raised the knife to his neck. But you stopped. Could you really do this? Hasn’t he proven that he isn’t so bad? While talking to him the past week, you learned a lot about him. He openly spoke about his home and filled you in on anything you were curious about. “Shit,” you thought. Surely enough he had lured you into his trap. You couldn’t deny the growing affection you felt for him. It doesn’t matter how small the feeling was. You weren’t going to let yourself do this.

As you were thinking a voice spoke behind you, “Are you trying to kill me dear?”

You snapped your head back and saw Loki standing behind you. When you turned to look at what you had previously thought to be Loki, he wasn’t there. The covers were still pristine and in place. 

“It’s alright, darling. I know you were not going to harm me. I saw your hesitation. Something has developed inside you,” he said.

“That’s not why.”

“Then whatever could change your mind? On that first day I could feel your hatred. It slowly dissipated as time passed. When I first laid eyes on you, I was intrigued. You are a passionate creature, driven by whatever your heart desires. Does your heart… desire me?”

Your breath caught in your throat at his sudden proximity. His face was inches from yours and you could feel his soft breath against your ear.

“Do you desire me… as much as I desire you?”

“I- I can’t… This was a mistake. I came in with a mission and it seems that it won’t be fulfilled.” As soon as you were done talking you turned away from him. Parts of you wanted to stay, but you knew you shouldn’t.

“A mistake? I have made many mistakes but wanting you is not one of them, love.” He looked at you with pure desire and truth in his eyes that your knees nearly went weak. Your mind told you that what you were about to do was betrayal, but you ignored it.

In one movement your body was flush against Loki’s. He placed a hand on your cheek and met you halfway, pressing your lips together. The kiss was filled with many unsaid words. It was an apology, a confession, and a thousand struggles shared between you. 

Your hand moved to tangle in his hair, deepening the kiss, if that was possible. His hands traveled to your waist, pulling you against him. You could feel the hardening going on in his pants. He pulled away as if to ask you permission. You took a step backwards and fell onto the bed, laying on your back.

Loki took that as a yes and stripped out of his clothes, leaving you the only one dressed. He climbed on top of you and began to trail kisses from your jaw to your exposed collarbone. You raised your hips to let him pull off your pants and underwear, which were already wet. He chuckled lightly at the sight but continued to undress you, throwing you shirt and bra over his shoulder. Anybody could take a peek at the security cameras and find you two together, naked on his bed.

Loki started slow, teasing your entrance with the tip of his dick before pushing it in the rest of the way. You bit your lip to suppress any noise. He slid in and out of you, picking up the pace as he went. It was becoming more and more difficult to stay quiet. You wanted to moan, say his name, anything to express how he was making you feel.

Loki also seemed to be having trouble staying quiet, breaths ragged with each thrust. He lifted your legs so your ankles were on his shoulders. The thrust he gave after that was enough to make a sound slip from both of you. He groaned and you moaned out his name, “Loki.”

It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak, coming undone as he gave another hard thrust. They soon became sporadic, some slow and some fast, but none at a steady pace. Just moments after you came, so did he, right into you.

He pulled out and rolled to your side, wrapping an arm around you as you both caught your breath. Whatever worries were troubling you were gone from mind as you laid there, mind focused on the man next to you.

[transsergio]

Emotions That I Simply Do Not Have (Read on AO3)

Chapter 1/3 - More Like A Relapse

Penemily + Hotchreid / Mature / 1893 words

Hotch and Emily have a drunken night together that Emily wants to forget, but Hotch can't let go. She and her girlfriend Penelope make a plan to get him out of their lives.

There's a brief paragraph describing Emily's dissociation in this chapter.

This started out as a parody of H*tchniss but then I got really into it. Hotch is pretty out of character and I'm picking on him this entire fic. There is no actual Hotchn*ss involved, which is why I didn't tag the ship, and because I don't need to fight with straight people today.

Emily’s head loathes her. She’s been hungover before, obviously, but this is something different altogether – she’s half-naked and her memory has completed ghosted her. There was tequila, she guesses, maybe vodka, shots, Hotch was going to give her a ride home because there’s something dangerous about a wasted agent wandering the city at night; snippets that don’t explain much beyond the ache hammering at the center of her skull.

At least Emily knows where she is. This is her apartment, her bedroom, her matted skin and grimy oils. The sheets reek of alcohol, so maybe she spilled some, or maybe it’s been sweat from her very pores. She’s missing a bra and she forgot to close the blinds last night. Only, she never forgets. It’s muscle memory. Did she…open them at some point?

The sink is running in the kitchen. And her toaster oven is beeping. Oh my god. She brought someone home last night. Hotch never would have left her in a cab with a stranger. How could Emily have picked someone up between the curb and her front door? She was a flirty drunk, but in no way smooth.

Emily moves on a slow incline, craning her body into an upright position. She winces. Sunlight beams directly into her eyes. It’s been a minute since she remembered exactly why she kept the windows covered. She pushes the duvet aside and swings her long, bare legs to the floor. They’re not bruised (yet), so she must’ve remembered to skip the stairs and go for the elevator this time. She’s tumbled down them before. Penelope made her promise she’d wear shin guards the next time she went out, Emily remembers, laughing under her breath.

Penelope, who definitely did not go home with Emily last night. She couldn’t have. She implemented a strict curfew after spending three consecutive nights in the batcave – bed by eleven, sharp. Unless Emily made a distress call sometime in the night. Emily scrunches the sheets between her fingers. A distress call, something like, “Come help me puke into my toilet for an hour and a half,” would bring Penelope running. Well, not running, but speed-walking, half awake. And it would be too late for Penelope to get home, with no one to text that she made it safely (except everyone else in the BAU, but that wasn’t the point). The point was, it could be her in there, popping Toaster Strudel in for the both of them.

Emily wobbles to her feet and kicks her crumpled slacks from her path. Oh, there’s her bra, launched to the other side of the room. She runs her fingers through her hair and hopes she made a difference, though it’s unlikely. Feet shuffle over her wooden floors, and someone opens and shuts the fridge door. Penelope uses fridges, coincidentally. That very well might be her.

There’s a cough, a low clearing of the throat. Emily stands upright like she’s been called to duty, and palms her forehead. Her headache makes it clear it did not like that. The cough does not sound like Penelope. Fear drains the strength from Emily’s limbs. Please, dear god, tell her that’s not a man.

Emily wants to crawl back into bed and have nothing to do with whoever’s in the other room. She wants to huddle under her covers and listen until the front door opens and shuts and it’s safe to emerge. She wants to have been sober last night. Instead, her phone vibrates on her dresser. Emily hadn’t realized that when it reverberates against the wood, her cell sounds exactly like a jackhammer, but she does now. She hears the same sound echoing in her kitchen.

Emily lunges for the text, from Garcia alerting them to a case, and slams all one hundred of those tiny Blackberry buttons to make it shut up, shut up, shut up. The bedroom door swings open.

“Two murders in Kentucky, looks like,” Hotch says. What? No.

Emily rubs her eyes with the backs of her hands. They come away streaked with dried mascara flakes and last night’s eyeshadow, but Hotch is still there. He’s standing in his boxers, a white undershirt, and five o’clock stubble. He doesn’t flinch at the fact that Emily is bare-chested in a pair of black boyshorts. This is bad. This is so bad.

Hotch says softly, “Can I…” Can he what? Can he call later tonight? Can he leave a toothbrush here? Can he have a drawer for his pajamas? “Can I get my shirt, please?”

“Oh.” Emily steps aside. His blue button-down is in a wrinkled pile beside Emily’s nightstand. Should she cover herself in the meantime? Would that make it weirder? He’s already seen what he’s seen, after all. The thought makes Emily gag.

“I’m going to get ready in your bathroom,” Hotch tells her. He makes too much eye contact. “There’s toast in the kitchen for you, if you want any.”

“Great, thanks.” Emily is tightlipped and dedicated to looking anywhere but his face. That leads to his boxers, and his dick inside his boxers, and the knowledge that they clearly had sex, and Emily might need the bathroom first if she didn’t vomit everything out last night.

Hotch disappears, and so does Emily’s presence in her physical body. She autopilots herself into her clean clothes, grips her dresser and stares into the mirror above it. C’mon, Emily, come back down to Earth. She tries what her therapist taught her in high school, focusing on a texture, on the feel of the woodgrain under her hands. How could she have come so far, a continent away, and still need the same techniques for the same problems? Hotch was an exercise in self-loathing and misery. Only this time, that exercise would be staring her down for extended periods of time while they mutually hunted killers.

Hotch reenters in the same suit he wore last night. Did he seriously have to wear a suit to the team’s night out? He couldn’t loosen up enough for a polo shirt and golf pants?

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again in this capacity,” he starts. “But I had… a great time, honestly, and I’d be open to another meeting.”

Emily’s eyes are dead. “No, thanks.”

“You’ve decided already?”

“Yep. I’m good. See you on the jet.” Emily yanks the bedroom door open. His cue to leave. He takes it, if not wearing the look of a kicked puppy.

He makes it into a cab, and the cab leaves, and clears her block, and turns the corner. Emily stays for another five minutes just to be sure the car doesn’t loop back around, looking for a second chance. She washes her face clean and falls to her mattress. This will only take a second – she stabs her face into her pillow and screams. And one more time. And maybe a long one, just to be sure. Emily comes to work that day hoarse, unbathed, and willing herself into another life.

*

A month later, they’re gathered at Haley’s funeral. Hotch gives a beautiful speech, and Emily’s all but forgotten the number of texts she’s received since their hookup. The sheer volume of “Thinking about you.. do you like Thai food?” and simple, two-word messages like “Good work..”, alongside “Hey. Horny?” are a thing of the past, at least for today. Maybe not tomorrow. Emily doesn’t really know how grieving works. She does, however, know what it feels like to want.

She ushers Penelope into a storage closet while the rest of the team (plus Kevin) is at the funeral reception’s buffet. They’ll make up some story about going to the bathroom and try to defuse JJ later, assuring her that she wasn't left out intentionally. Right now, life is for living.

Emily’s lips move across Penelope’s jaw, her neck, her chest. She presses them to Penelope’s like she’s made of china, set on keeping Penelope’s lipstick intact. Penelope grips Emily while her own wrist is between her teeth to stifle her sound. Emily is gasping for breath when her fingers reach for the button of Penelope’s sweater. She is desperate to have her undone.

“Wait, wait,” Penelope huffs, putting an arm’s length of space between them. Her chest is heaving. “I can’t do this here, not today.”

“Today is why I want to do this,” Emily counters.

“We have time.” Penelope’s voice breaks. She fusses with her little hat and rights it atop her hair. “We have time that Haley didn’t –”

“How do we know?” Emily interrupts. “It could be me next. You’ve already been shot once before, and I just can’t… I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with you on the fringe of my life.”

Emily wipes a tear streaking down Penelope’s cheek. Before Penelope can reach for her compact, Emily passes her hers. She says, “I don’t mean we have to do anything right now in… what is ironically a closet,” Penelope laughs and dabs at her makeup, “but I want you. And seeing you with Kevin today, having to be next to you while he holds your hand? It’s maddening.”

A quiet passes. Penelope sniffles and the crowd outside makes somber conversation. Penelope whispers, “I’m scared.”

Emily closes the distance between them and cradles Penelope in her embrace. “I know; so am I. Can we be scared together?”

Penelope nods into the crook of Emily’s shoulder. They sway in the warmth of one another, in the cramped haven that is shelves of industrial cleaner and mop buckets.

“So what do we do?” Penelope asks. “Should I break up with Kevin, or tell him the truth? Neither option feels, uh, super-duper.”

Emily snorts some of the hat’s feathers from her nose. “If you want to be outed, I think telling Kevin he’s your beard is a great idea.”

“Stop. Kevin wouldn’t do that.”

“Penelope. He’s a man. He’s going to feel used, emasculated, and plenty bitter. I don’t see a reality in which he doesn’t out you.”

“I know, I know, but I don’t think Kevin’s like that. He’s sweet on me.” Penelope further buries herself in Emily. “On the off-chance that he would, though, I guess I’ll dump him.”

Emily hums in agreement. They keep themselves safe in their darkness a little longer, resistant to go out and face the mourning. Emily’s heart is busy fluttering, anyway. She and Penelope might remain a secret, but this is officially more than a hook-up. It’s all Emily could dream of when she stormed Penelope’s batcave the morning after Hotch. When she spun Penelope around in her desk chair and strung their mouths centimeters apart – a question and a dare all in one. Penelope leaned through the divide and they were kissing, slow and tender but driven by a force that urged them on. Emily had wanted Penelope for so long, but that morning, she needed her.

When they return to the team’s table, Kevin is at Penelope’s side. Emily puts her focus on Morgan, on caring about Hotch’s well-being, anything but Kevin’s soft, drooping face. It’s like his skin could slide right off at any second. No, Emily will ask what they can do, will let the team explain that their power extends to waiting Hotch out, will squeeze Penelope’s hand as they leave for their next case in Nashville.

[unfolded73]

My Heartbeat Shows the Fear (1/4) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: A canon divergent story: Patrick gets into a car accident and it brings the Brewers to town sooner.

Notes: This fic will be posted in 4 chapters, every other day. There is some description of injuries, but nothing too graphic or life-threatening.

The title is from "Overkill" by Colin Hay, which thanks to the show Scrubs puts me in mind of hospitals.

Thank you to Amanita_Fierce for putting so much time and thought into betaing this fic - you made it so, so much better. And thanks also to @high-seas-swan for some helpful suggestions, particularly on that one scene that I tore apart and rewrote.

Rated Teen, this chapter 5278 words. (ao3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1

Patrick drifted into wakefulness like rising from a deep dive to the surface of the water. He became aware first, before even opening his eyes, of David’s arm over his chest and his hand curled protectively around the side of his ribcage. The sheets were soft against his skin and the duvet was a comforting weight over his body and he never wanted to move from this spot. Patrick lifted his own hand and dropped it clumsily over David’s, calloused fingertips tracing gently over David’s knuckles.

“Good morning,” David said in a surprisingly coherent voice for first thing in the morning.

Opening his eyes to see David watching him was an unusual experience. As he blinked sleep out of his eyes, Patrick tried to remember if David had ever woken up before him, and the only occasion he could summon to mind was New Year’s Day, after a night when Patrick had gotten much drunker than David had.

“Why are you awake so early?” Patrick yawned.

David shrugged. “It’s almost eight o’clock; you’re just sleeping later than usual.”

Groaning, Patrick started to sit up. The very energetic sex they’d indulged in last night must’ve really worn him out. “We’ve gotta get up and get started on those vendor pickups.” It was Monday and the store was closed, but they had so many pickups to do this week that they’d grudgingly agreed to do them on their day off, splitting the list in half.

“Mmm, five more minutes,” David said, holding Patrick down with the arm across his chest and shifting closer, their naked bodies coming into closer contact. Patrick closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate that David hadn’t gotten up to put on pajamas last night, his usual routine even now that Patrick had his own apartment. Patrick was starting to suspect that he could read David’s lack of clothes the next morning as a particularly positive review on his performance in bed the night before.

“What are you smiling about?” David asked.

“Last night,” Patrick responded without opening his eyes. They really needed to get up, he thought, but lazing around in bed with David was very tempting.

David made a pleased sound in the back of his throat. “Yeah, that was, um…” He nuzzled against Patrick’s shoulder. “If that’s what happens after you go on a date with someone else, I’m almost inclined to tell you to do it again.”

Patrick bristled at that. “That’s not funny.”

“Sorry,” David whispered, pressing a supplicating kiss against Patrick’s arm.

“Besides, I bailed partway through the date,” Patrick said.

“Mm. Poor Ken,” David said. “He has no idea what he’s missing out on.”

Patrick frowned, turning onto his side and dislodging David from his chest. “You didn’t expect me to sleep with Ken, did you?”

David opened and closed his mouth. “Not sleep with, no.”

The same queasiness that Patrick had felt last night as he drove to meet Ken rose up in his stomach. “Then, what? A quick handjob in my car?”

David shot him a guilty look. “No,” he said, but then bit his lip. “Or, I don’t know. Maybe something like that. Something that you’ve only experienced with me that you might be… curious about experiencing with another man.”

Patrick sighed. “Okay, first of all, I’m not particularly curious about experiencing stuff like that with other men.”

“Yeah, you said—”

“And if I do become curious, or… or want to … explore with another guy in the future, you and I are going to have to be a lot clearer with each other about what is and isn’t going to happen.”

“Ground rules,” David grumbled.

“Yeah, I guess.” Patrick leaned over and kissed him. “But, David.” He kissed him again. “It’s so good with you. I sort of can’t imagine anyone else not being a huge step down in quality.”

He watched David’s face go on a journey before settling on pleased. “That’s very flattering. But sometimes the point is that it’s a stranger. Or at least, someone you aren’t going to see again.”

Patrick pulled back. “Is that something you want?”

David rolled his eyes, dismissing that idea with a flap of his hand as he looked up at the ceiling. “God no. I had a lifetime’s worth of casual sex.”

Reaching out, Patrick put his hand on David’s cheek, turning his head so that they were looking at each other again. David’s face softened, his eyes gazing into Patrick’s in the way that always made his stomach swoop. Made Patrick want to sink into David’s arms and never let go. “And if that ever changes, will you tell me?”

There was a pause, and then David nodded. “Of course. Will you tell me? If you change your mind?”

Patrick nodded. “I promise.” And then he pulled David closer, kissing him deeper and with more tongue than was probably warranted given their morning breath. For once, David didn’t complain.

After a minute, Patrick had to wrench his mouth away and force himself to sit up. “Okay, if we don’t get up now, I’m going to end up fucking you again.”

David smirked. “What’s so wrong with that?” And then he wiggled his hips and his expression became more thoughtful. “Although I’m still feeling what you did to me last night.”

Patrick winced. They had gone at it pretty hard, he remembered with a mixture of desire and guilt. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” David said. “It was perfect and don’t you dare apologize. Just not sure if I can get fucked again right at this precise moment.”

Patrick whipped the covers off and stood up, ignoring his own visible arousal. “You aren’t going to be. You’re gonna get ready to do the pickups west of town.”

David whined and stuck his bottom lip out. Patrick turned away from him and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor before he was tempted to bite David’s lip, because that way did not lead toward getting their vendor pickups done. “Can you make us some breakfast while I shower?” Patrick called over his shoulder. David’s “ugh fine” reached his ears just as he was closing the bathroom door.

Once he had showered and shaved, Patrick emerged back into the apartment, a towel around his waist. David had pulled on a sweatshirt and drawstring shorts and was in the kitchen making Patrick’s tea. The domesticity of it made something tender and fragile swell in his chest. He loved having David here in his apartment, and he felt a wild desire to just ask David to move in, his resolution to take his time with that step in their relationship be damned. In moments like this, his original idea that he wanted to spend some time living on his own seemed silly. As he pulled on underwear and jeans (glancing over his shoulder to catch David checking out his ass), a t-shirt and a v-neck sweater, he imagined it — David’s clothes in his closet (well, some of them), David’s shoes by the door, his journal on the nightstand, his products finding a permanent home in Patrick’s bathroom rather than lugged back and forth between the motel and the apartment in David’s bag.

“Your mom is texting.”

Startled, Patrick looked over to David, who was pointing at Patrick’s phone on the kitchen counter. “I’m gonna shower,” David continued, unaware of the track of Patrick’s thoughts. “Here’s your tea and some toast.”

Patrick walked over and picked up his phone in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.

Mom: Can you call when you get a chance?

Oh yeah, the other reason he wasn’t ready to ask David to move in yet, he thought with a surge of shame. His parents.

Figuring David would be in the bathroom for a while yet, Patrick unlocked his phone and placed the requested call.

“Hi, sweetheart!” his mother said in a chipper voice.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, we were just having breakfast and realizing that we hadn’t heard from you in a while. How are things with you?”

Patrick looked at the closed bathroom door, and then moved over to the other side of the apartment. “Things are good. I’ve got vendor pickups to do today.”

“You work so hard, dear. I hope you are taking some time for yourself too.”

“I am.” He thought about dates with David, or curling up on the bed and watching movies with David, none of which he was ready to talk to his mother about. He knew it was time. It was way past time, but he could never get the words to come out when he was on the phone with his parents. “I went two for four in my last game,” he said. Baseball was always a safe topic.

“That’s great!” his mother said, the enthusiasm she’d always shown for his athletic activities obvious in her voice. “I bet they’re glad to have you on the team.”

“Uh huh. It’s a fun team.” He thought about how easy it was to be out of the closet around them — mentioning his boyfriend as the team drank beers together at the Wobbly Elm after practice, or kissing David after games when he came to watch. It was nice. He wanted that same ease with his family, to be able to mention David in passing as more than just his business partner. He ran a finger along the top of the framed picture on his desk, of him and David on Christmas Eve last year, arms around each other at the Roses’ party. Patrick had a hard time taking his eyes off of David in that photo sometimes, radiant in a silver sweater under the warm Christmas lights.

“Well,” she said, like she was hoping for him to say something else. After a pause in which he didn’t, his mother continued, “I should let you get on with your day.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, guilt churning in his stomach yet again at the fact that he couldn’t just be fucking honest with this mother. That the life he shared with his parents was more gaps than substance. “I’ll call again when I have more time to talk.”

“Okay,” she said, the happiness gone from her voice. He’d done that with his evasiveness, Patrick thought. He’d made his mother sad. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you, too, Mom.”

~*~

David pulled up in front of the store in the Lincoln and pushed on the heavy driver’s door with a grunt. He stood up, his sweatshirt sticking to the small of his back with sweat. The vinyl seats were one of things he hated most about that car, and he hated a lot of things about it. He wasn’t that fond of Patrick’s car either, but at least it had slightly more comfortable seats. In any case, their divided errands had made borrowing Patrick’s car impossible, so he was stuck with the Lincoln.

He unlocked the door to the store and ducked his head in. “Patrick?” he called. Patrick’s car wasn’t out front, but it was possible he’d pulled around to the back to unload. When no one answered, David pulled out his phone and sent off a text: How close are you to getting back? There was no answer, so David assumed Patrick was driving. He opened his text chain with Stevie and texted, Can you come help me at the store for a minute?

Stevie: I’m busy working.

David: You’re not that busy if you’re texting me back.

She didn’t answer. “Fuck,” David whined to no one, resigning himself to having to unload the entire car by himself. This was why splitting up the vendor pickups had been a terrible idea, he thought as he muscled a crate of honey out of the trunk. Now here he was, all alone with very heavy things to carry.

By the time he had all of the new merchandise stacked in the back room, he was drenched with sweat and there was still no sign of Patrick. Well, just for that, he wasn’t going to wait around, David thought churlishly as he locked up and got back in the car. He was going to go take a shower at the motel and Patrick could unload by himself too.

He briefly considered going to Patrick’s apartment to shower; his water pressure was better and David had a couple of changes of clothes there. Plus, he had a key, and Patrick had said that he was welcome to come and go as he pleased. But he also knew that living alone was something that Patrick wanted — it was something he’d never had before, he’d admitted to David on the day he’d signed the lease. He’d gone from his parents’ house to a dorm to apartments with a series of roommates to living with Rachel to rooming with Ray. He’d never had his own place. David understood that and he wanted Patrick to have what he needed, not have David unexpectedly underfoot when he perhaps wasn’t welcome. Still, it didn’t stop his heart from aching a little bit. He wanted to live with Patrick, he’d realized. He had been ready to take that step and Patrick hadn’t been. It stung.

Alexis was doing something on the laptop computer at her little desk when David walked into their shared room, and she looked up at him and wrinkled her nose.

“Ugh, David, what happened to you?” she asked.

Narrowing his eyes, he dropped his bag on the bed. “I was working. What are you talking about?”

“You’re all gross and sweaty,” she replied.

“It’s hot out today, and I had to do a bunch of vendor pickups in that boat of a car and then unload everything into the store by myself because Patrick’s not back yet,” he complained. He collected a change of clothes and marched into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him to punctuate how tough his day had been. Okay, he’d been able to sample some of the new butter cookies that Mrs. Franklin sold through their store, and maybe she’d also given him a glass of lemonade, but still.

After a shower, David felt worlds better, although there was still no reply from Patrick to his text.

“What is taking him so long to get back?” David muttered as he dug through his cedar chest. The sweater he was looking for didn’t appear to be in there, another annoyance in a day of annoyances.

“What’s the matter?” Alexis asked.

David waved at her, his hand flapping at the end of his wrist. “Patrick’s just taking forever to finish his vendor pickups,” he said, trying to ignore the worry beginning to gnaw in his stomach. “It’s fine.”

“I hope you had a talk last night, David,” Alexis said, her eyes not coming up from her laptop. “No more fooling around with anyone outside the relationship until you’ve established some ground rules.”

David whipped around and glared at her. “Can you let that go, please? We’re fine.”

“No thanks to you,” she said.

He suppressed a squawk. “We had a healthy talk about it this morning. We’re fine.”

“Good,” Alexis said.

“Also the sex last night was very hot—”

“David, ew.” She stuck her tongue out. “Don’t tell me that.” But then she sort of half-smiled at him. “I’m glad you guys are okay.”

David smiled back. He was glad too. “He makes me…” David started to say, then thought better of being so vulnerable in front of his sister. But what the hell; she’d been there for him last night when he needed someone. He moved over to his bed and sat down to put on his shoes. “He makes me feel safe. No one’s ever… I’ve never dated anyone who made me feel safe before.”

Alexis, to her credit, didn’t make fun of him, although the squinty smile she gave him made him recoil, grimacing.

“Kids!” his dad called as he barged into the room. “We’re headed over to the café for dinner. Do you want to join us?”

Alexis shook her head. “I’m going over to Ted’s for dinner.”

David picked up his phone and sent another text to Patrick. Are you still not back yet? And then he stared at the screen, waiting to see dots to indicate Patrick was texting back, or at least to see a read receipt. The ball of worry in his stomach grew a little bit bigger.

“David, do you want to come with your mother and me?” Johnny asked.

“I was supposed to eat at Patrick’s,” he said. “But maybe. I don’t know.” He switched apps and called Patrick’s phone, holding it to his ear and listening to it ring and ring and ring. With every ring, he felt his breathing rate tick up.

“Well, we’re going now, so I need you to decide,” Johnny said irritably.

David slapped his phone down on the bedspread and threw his hands up. “Then go without me; it’s fine!”

“David, I’m not going to wait around for a second evening that I’m supposed to spend with Ted while you have another meltdown about—”

“No one’s having a meltdown!” David shouted. “I just don’t know where my boyfriend is!” He looked at the time, feeling queasy. His previous annoyance was gone and now he was just worried. Patrick really should have been back hours ago. He tried calling again.

“David, you need to be a little bit less clingy—” Alexis said.

“Okay, well, we’re going to go,” Johnny said. “You can join us later, if…”

David’s phone vibrated in his hand, and he saw he had a call from an unknown number coming in as he tried to call Patrick. Maybe Patrick’s phone had died and he was calling from someone else’s phone, he thought as he clicked to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this David Rose?” asked a woman in a sharp, business-like tone of voice.

“Yes, who is this?” he snapped.

“This is Cheryl calling from Elmdale Hospital. We’ve got a Patrick Brewer here and he gave us your number as his emergency contact.”

“Oh, God.” There was a rushing noise in his ears and his mouth tasted like bile as he tried to shape it into making useful words. “What happened to him? Is he okay?” David clutched the edge of his bed, feeling dizzy, heart racing.

“There was a car accident and he was brought in by ambulance a little while ago. He’s having some tests done, but I can’t disclose any information about his health to you over the phone. If you come to the hospital—”

David hung up. He imagined Patrick’s car, the car he’d ridden in countless times on their way to movie dates or dinner, speeding through the countryside as Mariah Carey or one of Patrick’s alt-folk bands blasted out of the shitty speakers. Patrick’s car, mangled on a deserted road somewhere, no one around for miles. How long did it take before an ambulance came? How long was he lying there alone, broken and injured by the side of the road?

“David, you’ve gone very pale,” Alexis said.

“Is Patrick all right?” Johnny asked as Moira wandered in.

“John, I’m a bit peckish,” she said. “Are we leaving soon?”

“Patrick was in a car accident,” David said. Everyone’s voices sounded muffled to his ears, even his own. “I need to go to the hospital.” He stood up and looked around for the keys. He didn’t think he’d returned them to his father’s stupid little hook in the other room. Where were they?

There was a flurry of activity and then Alexis was at his side. “I’ll drive.”

David ignored her. He didn’t have time to think about Alexis right now. Where were the fucking keys?

Alexis held up her hand. “I have the keys and I’m driving,” she said, and David spared a moment to be confused about what he’d just thought to himself and what he’d said out loud. “You’re shaking,” she said pointedly. “Put your shoes on and let’s go.”

“Is he all right, David?” his mother asked as David sat back down on the bed and reached for his shoes. His fingers felt numb and clumsy.

“I don’t know.”

He looked up to see his parents exchange a nervous glance.

“I mean, they said they were doing tests. They wouldn’t say that if he was, like…” Dead, his brain supplied, but the word wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

“Shall we accompany you to the hospital, my darling?” Moira asked, grimacing, clearly regretting making the offer even as she did so.

“Nope,” Alexis said, shooing them back into their room. “No need for that. We’ll call you as soon as we know something,” she said firmly. When Alexis used that voice, people often had a hard time arguing, and their parents were no exception this time.

David tied his shoes awkwardly, the bows kind of a mess. Patrick had made fun of him one time about the precise way he tied his shoes. Patrick, who was lying in a hospital bed, injured, alone…

“Come on, David,” Alexis said, taking his arm firmly but kindly. “Have you got your wallet and phone?” He patted his pockets and nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

It was normally a forty minute drive to Elmdale, lots of time for David to imagine every possible horrible scenario. Maybe Patrick was in a coma, and would wake up having forgotten who David was, or even that he liked men. Maybe he would be paralyzed. Maybe his face would be horribly scarred. David would love him anyway, he thought, even if he’d been disfigured. All that mattered was that he came through this alive.

“I’m sure he’s okay, David,” Alexis said as if she could hear what was going on inside his head. She needed to stop doing that. It was creepy.

“You don’t know that.”

“His car is boring and probably has airbags and, like, crumple zones or whatever,” she said. “I bet he’s just got a little bonk on the head. The tests are probably just a precaution.”

He sighed, playing out that much more comforting fantasy in his head instead of his dark ones. Patrick would just stroll out of an examining room and David would hug him tight and take him home and everything would be fine.

They arrived at the hospital in only thirty-two minutes, thanks to Alexis’s speedy driving.

He identified himself at the front desk, and the receptionist or whatever she was told him to wait. David inhaled a breath, ready to argue, but Alexis was thanking the woman and dragging him over to the rows of chairs before he could get another word out. His sister perched on one of the plastic chairs and pulled out her phone while David paced back and forth in front of her. Now that they were here, he really just wanted to tear the place apart until he could see Patrick for himself. And hold his hand; he was sure that whatever had happened, Patrick would feel better if David could hold his hand.

“David Rose?” A woman in a white coat stood next to the door that led to the rest of the hospital. He rushed over.

“I’m David Rose,” he said, breathless.

“You’re Patrick Brewer’s…” She consulted the chart she was holding.

“Partner. Can you please tell me what happened? Is he okay?” He could sense Alexis behind him, hovering.

“Well, he got banged up pretty good. Compound fracture of the radius and fracture of the ulna, two cracked ribs, and a concussion. The police said a truck ran a stoplight and hit his car broadside.”

David thought it was wildly inappropriate that she would expect him to remember what bones were named at a time like this. “The radius is…?”

She gestured to her forearm. “Arm bones. As is often the case with this sort of impact injury, both bones in the forearm were broken.”

Wincing, David asked, “Can I see him, please?”

“Not yet; he was taken into surgery a little while ago to stabilize the arm. It has to be operated on right away because there’s a risk of infection when the bone is exposed.”

The next thing David was aware of was Alexis guiding him down into a chair. “Okay, just lean over and put your head between your knees,” she said while David tried to figure out why his vision was narrowing. He felt sweaty. Alexis disappeared for a minute, but he could hear her voice, off to the left somewhere. Also that doctor, the one who said Patrick’s arm was…

David fought the urge to throw up. It would be embarrassing to hurl all over the floor in the waiting room of Elmdale Hospital.

Finally Alexis was back. “Are you gonna pass out?”

“No. I don’t think so.” He lifted his head. “What did she say after the thing about his…”

“Bone sticking out?” Alexis asked unhelpfully. David put his head in his hands. “That they did a CT scan prior to surgery and that he was alert but concussed. You’ll be able to see him once he wakes up from the anesthesia. And they’ll have a better idea tomorrow how long he’ll need to be in the hospital.” She rubbed his back. “Do you want me to get you a cup of tea?”

David nodded. “I can’t believe this happened. Just like that.”

“Yeah, I’d like to get my hands on the driver of that truck,” Alexis said fiercely, and David couldn’t help but agree. He wasn’t a violent person, as a rule, but he’d make an exception just this once. Or he’d let Alexis have at him.

“He’s gonna be okay, though, right?” David asked, not liking the pleading edge in his voice.

Alexis was still rubbing his back, and she pressed her cheek against his arm for a second. “He’s gonna be okay, David.”

He startled, a thought occurring to him suddenly, and he fumbled for his phone. “I need to call his parents.”

“You have his parents’ phone number?” Alexis asked with a grin.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, I’ve never called them, but I was starting to think about…” He sighed. He hadn’t wanted to tell Alexis about this until much closer to the event. “Patrick’s birthday is coming up in a few months and I was thinking about inviting his parents to a surprise party,” he said as he pulled out his phone.

“David, that’s so cute,” she said with a pout.

“So I managed to use Patrick’s thumbprint to unlock his phone when he was dead asleep one night and I put their numbers into my phone in preparation for inviting them,” he said as he scrolled through his contacts. “Please don’t tell Mom and Dad; they can’t keep a secret,” he said as he pressed the button to call Marcy Brewer.

He’d only spoken to Patrick’s mother a couple of times, when she’d called the store after being unable to reach Patrick on his mobile phone. He’d handed the phone over to Patrick quickly after some brief pleasantries, but he’d gotten the impression of a friendly woman. Just the sort of person he’d expect to have raised Patrick Brewer.

“Hello,” came the maternal voice down the phone line as Alexis stood up, flopping her wrists towards her mouth. When he shook his head in confusion at her, she stuck out her pinky, miming sipping, before walking away. Right, she was going to get tea.

“Hi, Mrs. Brewer, this is David Rose calling.”

“Oh, David! How are you?”

“Um, well, not great. I’m sorry to have to call you like this, and let me start by saying Patrick is going to be fine…”

“Oh, dear. This is like the phone calls I used to get from his coaches,” she said, sounding surprisingly calm. “What happened?”

“He was in a car accident this afternoon and he’s in the hospital.” David felt tears pressing behind his eyes, and he ruthlessly swallowed them down. “I haven’t been able to see him yet, but they said his arm is broken. Also some ribs.” He decided to stop there, if for no other reason than he didn’t think he could go into more detail without needing to put his head between his knees again.

“Oh, my sweet Patrick,” Marcy gasped, sounding much less calm. “Why haven’t you been able to see him?”

“They’re… um… operating on his arm.” He braced his elbows on his knees. “It was a bad fracture.”

“Okay,” she said, back to sounding calm. “Clint and I will come there. We’ll be there in the morning.”

David wasn’t sure exactly where the Brewers lived, but he thought it was pretty far, and it sounded like she was implying that they would drive all night. “Maybe you should get some rest and leave in the morning?”

“As if I’d be able to sleep tonight, worrying about my boy,” she said. “He’s all alone there,” she said.

Frowning, David said, “I’ll be here. And my sister Alexis is here.” He wondered why she’d put it that way. Surely she didn’t think David would leave the hospital tonight, did she?

“That’s very sweet of you, David,” Marcy said. “I’ll let you know when we get into town, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” David said, off-kilter from the conversation. His eyes fixed on a stack of pamphlets on the table next to him, where a smiling woman was entirely too happy about routine colonoscopies. “It’s Elmdale Hospital,” he told Marcy.

“Thanks, David. If you see Patrick tonight, please let him know we’re on our way.”

When a nurse finally came to tell them that Patrick was out of recovery, Alexis had fallen asleep across his lap and David had read the entire pamphlet about colonoscopies (and all of the other pamphlets within reach) front to back. He shook Alexis awake and bolted up from the uncomfortable chair, not looking back to see if Alexis was following.

The first thing he noticed were the cuts on Patrick’s face. They weren’t large; probably not worth mentioning in the context of his other injuries. Just tiny knicks in his forehead and left cheek from bits of glass, David assumed. But tears still welled up in David’s eyes when he saw those angry little cuts. Patrick looked like he was sleeping, his arm bandaged and immobilized within a plastic splint contraption.

“Why don’t they put a cast on his arm?” Alexis asked as David went to sit next to the bed.

The nurse who was fiddling with one of the machines in the room looked up. “They will once they’ve made certain there’s no infection.”

Patrick opened his eyes and his face cracked into a sloppy smile. “It’s David!” he slurred, then he turned to the nurse. “David is my very handsome boyfriend who’s very handsome. See, I told you.”

Alexis snorted, covering her mouth, her eyes dancing with mirth.

“What’s wrong with him?” David asked.

The nurse smiled. “He just came out from under general anesthesia. He’s been talking about you a lot.”

“Flying pretty high, Patrick?” Alexis asked with a smirk. She pulled out her phone and held it up.

“Put that away,” David snapped.

Patrick squinted at her like he couldn’t quite focus on someone that far away. “Hi, Alexis,” he said. “Thanks for coming to visit me in the hospital.” Then his head swung around to David again. “I love you. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too,” David said around a lump in his throat. “I was worried about you.”

Patrick’s smile fell. “David?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I think I’m gonna puke.”

Chapter 2

[iwillgoon]

Table 4

Chapter two Get out

Paring - Negan x black!reader

Summary - Reader deals with the repercussions of the guys staying late at the diner.

Warnings - Negan being an a-hole, thoughts of racism, broken glass

Word count : 3236

Note: Thank you, to anyone who took the time out of their day to read my story. ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After sanitizing the tables, and chairs you sweep the floors; even taking the time to wipe down the table tents. Looking over your left shoulder you let out a frustrated sigh, it’s been 5 hours, and they have yet to leave. Getting the green light to close up early from your manager due to the decrease of customers in the diner, leaving only the group of guys at table 4. Who were still sitting there socializing like a group of frat boys. You didn’t like to rush customers to leave, but it’s been 5 hours. Even after your passive-aggressive approach of nonverbal cues to get them to leave wiping the table, sweeping and mopping other areas, removing the paid check. And you were fucking tired, especially since you have class tomorrow, and you couldn’t leave until they leave. Fuck this. You thought standing up from your seat deciding to give them a piece of your mind, trying to get home quickly.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I’m sorry to tell you we are closing but there are a few places nearby open late if you want to continue the conversation.” You snarled, expression hardening a deep line appearing between your eyebrows. The convo between the three men stopped instantly at your interruption leaving Dwight, and Mustache in utter shock robbing them of speech, not expecting you to get so hostile. Except Negan, smirking at you as though he knew it was going to occur.

Spotting a grin that grew wider by the second. The corners of his mouth quirked up, “Well correct me if I’m wrong sweetheart, but if a fucking restaurant let you in the door then they must fucking provide service up until you feel goddamn ready to leave.”

Damn you did not expect for him to go off like that, he really caught you off guard. Feeling your heart rate climb a bit, swallowing hard quickly regaining your composure shooting him a frown, “ Sorry to disappoint you but, that’s not the policy here. You eat until we close.”

His eyes lighten up in amusement as if I was a dog taking the bait. He turned towards Dwight throwing a playful punch on his shoulder . “God damn, Dwight where have you been keeping this one.” Turnings his gaze back on you with a radiance in his eyes. “Well sweetheart, I don’t see any signs stating this. Also it looks like this dump could use the money so….”

A helpless anger simmered in you, hands squeezing into fist. “you fucking-“

“Hey, calm down y/n, it’s fine let me just take a piss, and we’ll be out of your hair okay.” Dwight persisted, stopping you both before things got more heated up. Raising is hands in surrender, trying to reassure you that was his only motive.

Letting out an angry breath, you nodded staring into his blue eyes, “Fine, bathroom then you all leave. Okay?”

Rising up from his seat Dwight drags himself to the bathroom leaving you with the two strangers, an awkward silence taking over the room. The man with the impressive Mustache stands up from his chair stepping towards you. He extends his hand towards you in greeting, offering a handshake. You obliged, hesitating for just a second, afraid to make actual contact with him. Eventually he broke the tension in the room, “Well excuse my rudeness, I don’t actually think I’ve properly introduced myself I’m Simon. I sincerely apologize on behalf of my friend. He's not always this off-putting.”

Pulling your hand back from his firm handshake, head bowing towards him glazing at the floor avoiding any, and all eye contact with the stranger. You shrugged, taking a sharp breath. “Um, it’s fine. been through worse.”

“Well, how about you come and sit over here with us while we wait for D over there.” Simon replied pointing to the table, strolling back to his seat pulling out a chair for you.

You politely declined his invitation trying to avoid any close range contact with Negan, not liking the lack of control over your emotions. But of course, he probably knew of your lack of composure when it came to him. Leaning back against his chair a faint tremor of amusement was on his lips, “Oh come on, he ordered the btl, and it always goes right through him. He’s gonna be a while.”

Treading slowly towards the empty chair surrendering to Negan's one single order. You really didn't have the foggiest idea what came over you, possibly it was the tiredness crawling up on you, or was this your rabbit hole that you could fall into. Whatever it was, certainly excited you as much as you prefer not to concede. Despite the fact that your gut was cautioning you not to go for somebody like him, obviously, you'd disregard it, you generally do. Negan's eyes lit up in excitement, gripping the arm of his chair, as he loomed closer, “So, how do you know our dear Dwighty. I simply Can’t believe that we have been running in the same circle, and I haven’t come across you.”

“He used to date my best friend, that's all, I barely know him.” You muttered, shoulders lifting in a half shrug. Truthfully you only met the guy three times, and you were even surprised that he remembered your name.

“Wait, so you telling me Dwighty boy knew a cute girl like you and didn’t think to set me up.” Negan exclaimed, staring at you in disbelief and you nodded in return. His compliment taking away your ability to form any speech. “I need to have a nice talk with his scrawny ass.”

You nodded mutely, yielding to the awkward mood of the night. Picking at the lint on your apron, choosing to be done with the conversation. What is taking him so long? You thought, deciding now would be a good time to check on sherry since she’s still in the kitchen doing some inventory. Just as you were about to get up a loud scream emerged from the kitchen releasing a surge of alertness through your body. Jolting your head towards the commotion. Wasting no time, leaping from your seat, upending the table, running towards the shouting, and hollering.

“Leave me the fuck alone! Didn’t you humiliate me enough D!”, Sherry yelled, shakily holding onto a piece of broken glass, pointing it towards her intruder defensively. Your eyes widened in shock at the scene unfolding in front of you, there were pieces of fine china scattered all over the floor. What the actual fuck? Dwight spotted a fearful look, his hair disheveled, breathing even but shallow. “But no you just had to come back to rub more salt in the womb? Huh!”

Raising his hands in a pleading manner, his head jerked in frantic disagreement, “You know that’s not true baby, I’m sorry for lying to you about them but I told them about you and how I’m not their little robot anymore. I swear you can even call Tracie she was there the whole time, babe I fucking swear.”

“Fuck Tracie, and fuck you. We are done, Dwight. I want you out of my life for good, now get the fuck out!” Sherry demanded, a bitterness creeping into her face. Walking closer to Dwight with the piece of broken glass now raised towards his face.

“Sherry, put that down! Are you crazy” you intervened, trying to knock some sense into your best friend. You know she was hurt, but this wasn’t the right way to go about it. However, you knew Sherry, and that she wouldn't calm down not until he was gone. “Please just leave. Haven’t you done enough? You’ve caused enough damage as it is.”

“Let’s go D, she’s not even fucking worth it.” Negan spat, pushing Dwight out of the kitchen despite his ongoing protest. Simon follows after them, throwing you an apologetic look on his way out.

Sherry tried to hold back the seething tower of tears that had been building up since the moment she had been angered. It was painful to see her like this, but all you could do was embrace her and let the torrent of her tears soak through your shirt.

—

“I miss the kids too, but I’ve just been really busy. You know with midterms coming up, and my hours at the diner. I don’t know.”, You revealed, strolling into your apartment, throwing your keys into a bowl by the door phone pressed between your shoulder and left ear. After avoiding your sister’s calls for a week, you’ve finally surrendered. After feeling guilty after reading her lengthy Instagram post about how much she misses you. “Tomorrow? Um, I don’t know Michonne, that’s my day off. And you guys live very far, and I am too fucking tired for that.”

“Stop being so dramatic, We’re only forty minutes away, and you could even spend the night. Just pack some clothes and I’ll just drive you to class, yeah?” Michonne demanded, on the other line. Slumping on the love seat, releasing a baffled moan, the idea of not having the option to have the day off picking at you. You really cherished visiting your sister, and her kids however Sundays were the days you looked forward towards. Staying in bed throughout the day, not associating with individuals was a basic need for you.

“Fine, I’ll come. Now can you stop those sappy insta posts about me. It's cringey, and kinda creepy.” You teased, getting up from the couch strolling into the kitchen attempting to discover a snack to tend your snarling stomach. Looking through every cabinet, eventually giving up your search nothing grabbing your attention. Inclining toward the island as Michonne continues to talk your ear off about how she wasn’t trying to guilt trip you. “I’m gonna let you go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Love you, bye.”

Finally ending your phone call, feeling defeated from the conversation. I guess it would be to see the kids. A lighter feeling taking over your aura as you conjure up the pros about giving up your antisocial day.

“Hey, when did you get back.” Sherry questioned, leaning against the doorway a smile planted on her face. Gazing upward in shock, Narrowing your eyes at her, the total 360 of her state of mind changes worrying you. After comforting a sobbing Sherry once the group of men left. She clarified what had happened the previous evening saying how Dwight arranged the entire thing to win her back by appearing at the diner. Even asking his friends to come with him for moral support and how he faked needing to utilize the washroom rather heading out to discover her. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry about that, I was on the phone with Michonne. You know how it is.” You apologized, knowing how scared she gets when she’s home alone. Sherry waved it off with a considerably greater grin presently laying all over, head inclined towards you attempting to get you to ask her what she was so glad about. Knowing her, it's most probable about Dwight, you thought shaking your head. “Just come out with it Sher....”

“Okay, but before you say anything just know that I am truly happy and this time is different. I -I can feel it, I swear.” Sherry ramble, towards you giving your hand a tight squeeze. You nodded encouraging her to go on with her announcement. “I couldn’t go to sleep last night you know after everything at the diner. I just kept tossing and turning because of the burning question in my head. Like is he telling the truth? Did he truly face his folks? So I said too hell with this, I’m calling tracie, and I…..I believe him. ugh say something.”

Nodding slowly, eyebrows furrowed trying to make sense of the situation. Dwight was a good guy, but the way Sherry reacted to him last night was very alarming to you. “I don’t know sher, just a few hours ago you thought your whole world was over because of him, and-

“But it’s not like that, we are taking things slow. We’re starting over, a fresh new start, it’s different this time. Please just be happy for me. I can’t give up on us, and I need my best friend to support me.” Sherry interrupted, crossing her arms, eyes narrowed at you. She was never good at listening, or taking the truth especially when it came to her relationships.

“You know I have always supported you sher, but I just want you to be careful. Okay?” You advised, knowing that she wouldn’t take your guidance no matter what. Sherry guaranteed that she will, and how she had one more thing to report. She proceeds to explain how Dwight actually invited her to his family Gala to prove to her that he wasn't lying. And how she needed you there for backup just in case things turned left.

“So I need you to be my plus one. I promise I’ll be by your side the whole night .” Sherry asked, giving you puppy dog eyes. Pulling your arm towards her heart.

“Ugh, why me? You know I hate parties with privileged people who thinks complimenting the black girl on talking properly is a good thing .” You signed, snatching your hand back. It was true though, every time you go to parties with a predominately white crowd it was always the same damn thing. Them talking to you like you grew up in a wooden hut, reminding you how they voted for Obama like it’s a personality trait, and hearing their backhanded compliments about how proper you talk.

“That’s not true.” Sherry disagreed, throwing you a frown. You rolled your eyes at her, shaking your head at her. How would you know?

“You can’t speak on experiences you don’t go through. we’ve talked about this sher.” You stated, staring into her guilty eyes. She quickly agreed, apologizing for her ignorance.

Eventually In the long run she persuades you to go to the function saying how there will be heaps of food, and she'll clean for seven days. Who could disapprove of that? Without a doubt not you. “Okay, fine I’ll go now leave me the fuck alone.”

—

Arriving at the gala you were in awe at the sight inside the building. Wall-to-wall marble floors, limestone columns, soaring vaulted ceilings and intricate ironwork decorate the interiors of the ballroom. Is this what the met gala looks like from the inside you wonder, staring up at the eclectic chandeliers, unique furnishings, and bistro lighting. Sherry was instantly pulled away from you at your arrival, promising you she’ll be back in a minute. Well it’s been an hour, and you were pissed not just in light of the fact that she disregarded you knowing how you feel about being in sceneries like this, but because the food was shit. And you were hungry. Returning from the bathroom after sitting there for 20 minutes trying to kill time, and avoid any socializing. Currently sitting at the bar trying playing an intense game on your phone.

“Are you fucking following me? You could’ve just asked me out instead, love when a woman takes charge.” a voice teased, behind your head making your body convulse in a sudden jolt. Looking up from your phone turning around in your chair, frowning at the twit who startled you. Negan? Well yeah he’s friends with Dwight idiot. He looked fine as hell though wearing a tuxedo like the entirety of different guys in participation, however his appeared as though it was made explicitly for him, custom-made better than anybody else's. His hair was slicked back with a gel. Smirk sitting on his face at your distaste at seeing him again. That didn’t stop his eyes from roaming your figure. Biting his lips satisfied with his sights. “Holy shit, you look fucking gorgeous.”

‘And you look fucking beautiful,' your demons were nearly commending the man before you, a supposition you shared;

“Thanks.” You uttered, gazing towards the ground. His presence leaving a burning sensation on your skin.

“Listen, what happened last night was fucking insane. Definitely wasn’t expecting your bestie to go all buckwild on Dwight.” Negan recalled, detecting your strain towards him. You nodded in agreement, never seeing Sherry enraged in all your years of friendship. “And I’ll say we didn’t exactly left off on the right foot last night. But I do remember you starting it.”

Arms tightly crossed, you throwing him a glare,“I started it? No, you and your little friends were supposed to leave once we closed, but you guys stayed late on purpose knowing that we were closing. That was on you.”

He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, “Listen, I just came to support a friend. Got tired of him crying like a little pussy over her, so I said fuck it. Told him to drive up to that little raggedy old diner, and to win his girl back. And it worked.”

You stayed silent, realizing where it counts he was correct. He was just trying to help his friend, who could be mad at that? And he was actually right, Sherry and Dwight eventually did work things out so you had nothing to be mad about. Tucking a loose curl behind your ear releasing a deep sign. “Yeah, I guess it did”

“Let me make it up to you. The food here is absolute dog shit. There’s a little diner around the corner, foods a whole lot better than the dump you work at.” Negan offered, gripping the arm of your chair leaning closer, throwing you at slight wink. Making your heart beat faster at the closeness between you two. Wow he is so fucking gorgeous and he knows it.

You instantly froze, the thought of being alone with him terrified you, for the most part since you would make a damn fool out of yourself. Thinking up a good excuse you gulped “No, thank you. I don’t even know you Negan. For all I know you could be some psycho serial killer. Might bash my head In with a bat or something.”

“I promise I won’t try anything, all I want is to just make up for last night. I fucking promise sweetheart. My treat.” Negan assured, staring straight into your eyes with an intense gaze, showing you that he was serious. I could stare at his eyes all fucking day 24/7

Your eyes perk up, my treat who could say no to free food especially since the food here was shit, and you were a broke college student. But you did come with Sherry and she will definitely be concerned once she understands you're not there. Fuck her she left me alone for TWO hours you concluded, the anger you felt towards her overclouded your conscious to do the right hing. “Fine. But if you try anything I swear I’ll-”

Negan lifted your chin, “I know, y/n. You're safe with me I promise.”

Neither of you moved a muscle. You could hear his own heartbeat; he could even hear your nervous breaths. Grabbing your purse sending Negan a nod, the two of you head out towards the entrance. As you two stroll towards the diner you gaze toward the sky silently praying to the higher realms that you won’t do anything you’d regret.

[wafflewarriors]

Of Daydreams and Realities

Chapter 5: The Truth

You woke up to a ceiling above you.

"Oh, no no no no no," you murmured as you took in your familiar surroundings. This was just your luck. Of course you wound up straight in the middle of—

"Well, hello," said an unmistakable voice behind you. You had no doubt Sherlock's full attention was centered upon you. "You… didn't use the door. Where did you come from? How did you get in here?"

You were sure your sanity was in ribbons by now, one thread barely keeping it all together. "Zip it, Curly. I don't want to talk to you."

"American," he said. He marveled you. "What's an American doing in my flat? You certainly don't look as if you've planned this."

"Trust me, this was not consensual." You scoped the flat. Your hands fidgeted and your heart thrummed.

"Is there any particular reason you are in my flat, then?"

You growled in irritation. "I need you to stop talking. I seriously cannot mentally take it at this moment. Can I see John?"

His eyes were never in the same place twice except your eyes. "Intriguing."

How did John deal with this everyday? "No. No. Not Intriguing. I am not intriguing at all. Where's John?"

He hummed, curious. "Usually people ask for me, not John."

"Sorry if I damaged your pride." Your sarcasm hit the roof. I can't handle this. "I need to speak with John Watson."

"And what would you like to talk about?" John said, leaning against the doorway. He had much more honest eyes, but you could tell he was observing you. He was probably sizing you up while also diagnosing you with severe sleep deprivation, malnutrition, and a form of anxiety disorder.

"Can we talk?" You pleaded, and then eyed Sherlock nervously. "Alone?"

"Yes, of course," John said immediately.

"No, this is my flat—"

John scoffed. "And because Sherlock is unwilling to share his flat currently, we can take a walk instead. Mycroft likely bugged the place anyway."

Sherlock sneered, "I debugged it this morning!"

Both you and John exitted the flat, and Sherlock was wise enough not to follow.

///

The city of London was recovering from a rough rainstorm. The sidewalk was dark, the public benches tripped with rainwater, and the gutters gurgled as you passed them. The air was brisk and the day was clear.

John sighed, "Sorry about him. He's just a bit jealous that I got the interesting case and he didn't. He's been going mental trying to find a good case lately."

"What says I'm interesting?"

John's expression turned amused. "Everything. Sherlock hasn't looked that startled in weeks. Whatever you've done that caught his attention, you have no hopes of losing it. He'll be stuck to you like glue until he figures you out."

Great.

"I need your help."

"May I ask what with?"

You said, "No. I'm sorry. It's… personal," you lied. "I… need a doctor. I need help getting back on my feet. Please?" You scratched your neck. The cars buzzed by. "I'm desperate."

He pondered on that for a minute, working his teeth and setting his jaw. "Why me?"

"You're the best man I know of."

John was clearly not expecting that response. 

You both crossed the road, silence awkwardly enveloping the conversation until you spoke. "Can you keep Sherlock… away from me?"

John became suspicious. "Why?" The unspoken 'do you have something to hide?' lingered.

"He's going to pick me apart, John." Your voice wavered. "And I'm terrified."

///

You returned to the flat, and to your relief, Sherlock had gone.

"Finally had enough, then," John tutted. "Probably off to the morgue. Oh, Mrs. Hudson!"

The older woman had a kind smile. "John," she said fondly. "Oi! You didn't tell me you had a guest! Let me go put some tea on." She bustled out of the living room and then bustled back. "Here's some biscuits for you, dear."

You looked to John for help, but he only smiled and shrugged. He mouthed, "Enjoy it."

You weren't a fan of tea, but Mrs.Hudson was such a nice lady you couldn't refuse. Before you knew it, you had a teacup in one hand, and a cookie in the other. "Thank you, ma'am."

Her warm smile was enough to clear your anxiety like a snuffed flame. "Please, call me Mrs.Hudson."

John settled in his armchair, cookie in hand, and frowned. "Can you tell me some of what's going on? I don't know how to help you if I don't have the full picture."

Déjà vu much? You sighed. "You'll think I'm a nutter. It's best if you don't know."

"I've seen crazy things before; I live with Sherlock, for God's sake."

"I know, I—" This explaining bit was getting old. "I know you."

"You know me how? Know my blog?"

"No. Well, yes, but that's not why I know you. That's not why I how you had a psychosomatic limp that Sherlock got rid of, or that he knows your whole life story from just your phone, or that—"

"Are you with Mycroft?" John was looking less and less inclined to help. "Because if you are—"

"I'm not."

"You could b—"

"I'm not." You weren't going to cry. You were not going to cry. "God, I just want to go home." You held in every urge to kick and stomp and scream. You were not to throw a tantrum like an eight year old in Sherlock Holmes's flat. No matter how much the familiar decoration annoyed you. Oh, how you wanted to dropkick the skull on the mantelpiece.

"And why can't you?" John's voice was soft and assuring.

You were very close to crying. So very close, but you held your tears. You could toughen up. "Because as of now, it's physically impossible for me to go home. You can't help me with that anyway."

"Physically impossible? I'm sure I could arrange a flight if you're that far away. I could—"

"No. You don't get it. And I didn't expect you to."

"What don't I get?"

Frustration was giving you a headache. You were angry and tired and done. So done. What would he say if you told him the truth? Surely, he would kick you out. You've wasted his time. Despite everything, you said, as flat as you could, "I'm not in the right dimension."

There was silence.

You were expecting that. "That's why Sherlock was so confused. I hadn't used the door. He couldn't figure out how I got in." You couldn't look at him. "That's because I didn't use any sort of entrance at all. I just… appeared. Although not by choice."

"So that's how you snuck in," Sherlock said from the doorway. How did people always sneak in from the doorway? His bright eyes were on you, fascinated.

Your heart sunk.

John blinked. "You believe her?"

"There are theories of alternate dimensions, John. While they haven't been proven, it is a concept still in proposal. Who's to say there aren't countless dimensions?" Sherlock smiled. A gleaming, thrilling grin that signified he was ready for a good case. "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Tags

@jay-bel

@buttercup337

@seriously-n0pe

@hermionejacobs

[mainly-kpop]

Viagra Series

Namjoon ft Yoongi

Word count: 1768

Warnings: smut obviously, pill taking, daddy kink, sharing, phone sex?

Waking up abruptly to have something to eat seems like an easy enough task. Unless you're namjoon, who is trying to keep every ounce of sleep he has left in his body. If only he had picked the correct cupboard.

He rolled out of bed early that morning, or late that night, he didn’t want to know. All he knew is he should be asleep right now, the soft snores to his left solidifying the idea in his head. If his brain could connect with his stomach for once in it’s life, maybe he wouldn’t wake up at god knows what time for fucking snacks.

He trudged himself to the kitchen, pulling open the cupboard. Picking out a random box he opened it up feeling it before shrugging. Realistically he should just open his eyes, look at what the hell he had in his hands before throwing it into his mouth. However, he was aware M&Ms had new packaging, so who was he to question snack wrappers these days? Popping one into his mouth he crunched down, grimacing at the taste. Not M&Ms, definitely not. He poured a glass of water, chugging it to rid the taste, that almost tasted like-.

‘Joonie, what are you doing in the medicine cabinet?’ She questioned tiredly, rubbing her eyes, god she was so adorable. Wait medicine cabinet?! He opened his eyes fully, looking at the packet in question. No, oh dear lord, no.

‘I thought it tasted a bit strange. Zoinks scoob, that’s problematic.’ She frowned confused, what the ever loving god?

‘Zoinks scoob? Problematic? Are you high? What did you take?’ She walked over to the counter, looking at the packet, the writing in full white block letters. She snickered looking at the man beside her, blush over his cheeks. She looked down at his pants, seeing the growing bulge.

‘Huh, it really is fast acting look at that.’ She spoke impressed, the more you know.

‘Oh baby, looks like we are in for a long night.’ He growled, picking her up from her waist carrying her back to bed, she squealed smacking his hands so he would put her down.

‘Joonie! It’s early morning, you can’t do this I have plans today! With viagra in your system, I’ll never make it!’ He stood still for a moment, grip not easing on her, she puffed out air crossing her arms.

‘Then cancel your plans, it’s gonna be a good morning.’ He spoke smugly, running the rest of the way to their bedroom, god save the neighbor’s.

She couldn’t believe he was doing this, it’s 5 A.M for god sake! He wiggled off her PJ bottoms before wiggling his trousers off also.

‘Wow, wow, wow, you aren’t just going straight in right?’ She stopped him, hand pressed to his chest. He put his hand over his heart, a hurt hiss slipping through his teeth.

‘What do you think I am? An animal?!’ She rolled her eyes, a sigh coming out her mouth. He slipped down to his knees, bringing her body closer to the edge of the bed. Stroking his hands up and down her thighs, he spread them apart effortlessly, the cold air hitting her core. She wasn’t all that aroused before, she had only just opened her eyes for god sake. However, now with him between her legs, eyes animalistic and full of want. She could feel herself getting wet, her little bud getting hard, a soft whimper struggling to be held back.

‘Baby, look at the state of you, and I’ll I did was get on my knees. Such a little whore for me.’ He growled, trailing his middle finger through the wetness that already pooled between her legs.

‘I’ll always be your little whore daddy, tease me like the bad girl I am.’ He was taken back for a minute, she never behaved like this, asking to be punished. To be honest, it was a new side of her he could get used to.

‘You want to be punished huh? Tell me all the naughty things you’ve done baby, make it worth my while.’ He whispered, a lustful rumble to his words. His finger dipping inside her every so often, then pulling out like it never happened.

‘I’ve been such a naughty whore daddy. I touched myself yesterday, I didn’t even send you a video. I thought of you, your name slipping from my lips as I came, but I didn’t want you to see it. It was for me.’ She teased him, his jaw clenching at this fact. He loved knowing she was getting herself off, whether he knew about it before, during or after. He loved knowing her fingers were deep inside herself, vibrator pressed to her clit.

‘What did you do baby, show daddy.’ She whimpered as he pulled his hand away, slowly replacing it with her own. It wasn’t unusual for Namjoon to request she pleasure herself, he loved watching her fall apart whether it was his doing or not. That was probably why he was happy with threesome, no matter the participant. Sometimes he would sit off to the side, watch her get fucked by one of his friends. The noises that spilled from her mouth. None of this phased him because he knew, no matter what she would always need him. Need his dick, his words, his fingers, mouth, everything about him drove her wild and he knew this. No matter how good his friends were. He was better.

He watched her slip her fingers gently inside of herself, moving them around until her back arched, finding the spot inside herself.

‘What else baby, how else have you been a naughty girl?’ He questioned, she whimpered, suppressing it by biting down on her lip.

‘I was thinking about Yoongi again yesterday, god his dick was so good. Daddy, I got wet thinking about him, I want him again so bad.’ She whimpered, feeling like she was pushing herself over the edge. Before she could reach her climax, Namjoon pulled her fingers out of her, dark eyes focused on her.

‘That is naughty, very naughty. Those thoughts are not something daddy likes to hear.’ He spoke stretching his neck standing over her body. He held out his hand, pulling her to her feet, bodies flushed together.

‘On your knees princess, show me how sorry you are.’ She dropped to her knees quickly, and obediently. He smirked, the control he had over her making his dick twitch. She wrapped her lips instantly around the tip, knowing teasing him was only going to get her more punishments. He groaned, the feeling of her warm lips wrapped delicately around his dick. His head rolling back as he wrapped a hand around her hair, pushing her further and further down. She gagged lightly, tears stinging the corners of her eyes, but he just praised her.

‘I’m going to start now baby, if it gets too much show me what you’re going to do.’ He commanded. She responded by tapping his thigh two times before he smiled, praising her again. He pulled himself out her mouth, head resting on the tip of her tongue. Relaxing her throat and letting her jaw go slack, she sucked in a deep breath readying herself for what was to come. Slowly he eased himself back in, tip hitting the back of her throat, she swallowed around him puppy dog eyes locked with his. He began thrusting shallowly into her throat, pulling out the littlest bit before shoving straight into her throat. Drool dripped down her chin, trailing down her throat, soaking the little shirt she had on. Namjoon growled, feeling himself getting close. The look on her face, the tears falling from her eyes. The drool dripping down her chin, landing on the shirt making her hard nipples even more visible. Pulling himself out of her mouth, she gasped for air, sucking in whatever she could. He got on his knees cradling her face in his hands, wiping the drool from her chin.

‘So good baby, you did so well. On the bed, daddy isn’t done with you yet.’ As she crawled up the bed, he grabbed his phone punching in his pin and searching something.

‘Daddy what are you doing?’ She whispered, already having a slight incline to what he was doing. The phone rang on speaker for a moment before she heard a voice through the device.

‘Do you know what the fucking time is?!’ He screamed through the mic, causing Namjoon to lightly laugh. He crawled over the bed, putting the phone down beside her head.

‘You’re going to wanna be up for this Yoongi. Baby? On all fours, why don’t you tell him how much you miss him while I fuck you raw.’ She wasted no time, crawling onto her knees, putting herself face down on the pillow. He slid himself in with ease, stopping momentarily as she moaned right into the phone. Yoongi letting a string of curse words filter through the device, she whimpered in embarrassment and arousal. Knowing he could hear her, what she had to say to him, it was so hot.

‘Yoongi, I’m such a naughty girl. I miss your dick so much I- FUCK.’ She screamed, Namjoon slamming into her hard, over and over. Words failing her both the boys egged her on, wanting to hear more.

‘Keep going baby, tell him what you want.’ Namjoon said, breathing heavy. Yoongi joining in next, begging her for more.

‘Come on princess, keep going, I’m so close.’ He moaned, the clear evidence of him getting himself off. She whimpered, feeling herself hurdling past the point of no return. Feeling Namjoon’s hips stuttering, hearing Yoongi’s moans turn to whimpers.

‘Yoongi I want you to fuck me while daddy watches, I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t remember anything but your name. FUCK, Yoongi, daddy, please.’ She sobbed, body collapsing onto the bed, the power of her orgasm making her knees and arms weak. A breathy yet deep moan sounded through the phone, a sure sign that he came at the same time. Namjoon followed closely behind, fingertips digging into the swell of her ass.

‘Anyway…’ Namjoon spoke after everyone gathered their breath back. ‘I’m sure we can arrange something soon, right Yoongi?’ He questioned, leaving butterfly kisses along her back and shoulder.

‘For you two? I’m free whenever you want me.’ He whispered, leaving a tired and excited smile on her face. As the phone call ends, she hangs it up giggling.

‘Such a naughty girl, bet that made you want round two, no?’ He questioned, pouncing on her, she squealed in shock.

‘SHUT THE FUCK UP IT’S SIX AM YOU PIGS!!’ Came a scream and a thump from next door, they both looked at each other in horror, giggling embarrassed.

[sabine-leo]

Please me if you tease me...

Part 1 

Author: @sabine-leo

Rated: M (18+)

Part: 1 / ?

Genre: Tease, Humor, Lemon/Smut, Kink

Pairing: Loki x Reader 

Summary: There is something exhilarating about teasing your secret lover Loki. But are you ready to tangle with the God of Mischief? You are about to find out as the preperations for a grand festivity in Asgard kick in. 

Note: I do have no self control...While writing I realised that I probably would need more then a Oneshot/Twoshot to tell the story. I hope you don´t mind ;) Thank you for all the likes on the teaser I posted. It really helped me to write faster! Hopefully you´ll have fun reading it! Every like, comment and reblog is very appreciated! English isn´t my mother tongue so please forgive my mistakes!!

My Taglist ist open, as are requests. 

This would be a rather long day, Loki was attending a gathering in the Palace to discuss Security measures for the big festivity and some last-minute changes regarding the preparations. He had sneaked out of your chambers this morning with the promise to be back tonight. Nobody in the palace knew that you were seeing each other for a while now. It had begun as some kind of friends with benefits thing, but soon had turned into more. You loved Loki’s wit and his sharp mind and he liked that you treated him like a man, not a prince or a god…even if he teased you constantly that he was YOUR prince and god! You gave him a piece of your mind if he did something stupid or irresponsible and normally, he would listen…after sulking.

As you didn´t have anything scheduled for today and would only start to help with the preparations tomorrow you wanted to enjoy your off day a little. But feeling rather playful you snapped a picture of the filling tub and the big loofah Loki had gifted you a while ago. And after you had dipped in one of your leg lurking out of the bubbles. It didn´t take long that your phone announced a message with a little ding. Loki had taken a liking to Midgardian cell phones and brought them to Asgard. After a little alteration they worked just fine in this realm.

Laughing you opened up the message and read.

Loki: Why are you teasing your prince in such a devilish way? You know that I am in a gathering that needs my full attention!

You: Well, my prince...then why are you answering me ?

Loki: Thor is talking at this point in time and I have listened to him rant the whole morning after I left your chambers.

You: Then I am not distracting you from important things currently, your case that I am but a devil is invalid then.

Loki: Oh, my sweet maiden...You are a devilish vixen, but I will not punish you THAT MUCH if you send me another picture of your enchanting shape...

You: ...only if I get one in return...my prince!

Loki: You know I can not satisfy your enquiry in this moment of time. I do not think that a picture of this round table full of rather addleheaded persons would gratify your request. You on the other hand…You could absolutely satisfy my appeal.

Laughing and biting your lip you snapped another picture. To see in it was your neck and your collarbone…nothing more. You hit send with a giddy laugh escaping your lips. After you finished your bath and towelled yourself down you saw a new message coming in.

 Loki:  I WILL punish you for that tonight. If you keep sending me snippets, I will likely be able to print a life-sized poster of you in a while. And I will decorate my chambers with it. Maybe right above my bed.

 Dressing yourself in leather and your prestigious armour to walk around the courtyard you couldn´t muster to leave the smile behind that your little game with Loki had put on your lips. You were one of the rare women soldiers in Asgard. Trained by the Valkyrie herself you could pack a punch and then some, dresses weren´t made for you, you preferred leather and pants at any given time.

Opening the door to get some fresh air and walk around the beautiful courtyard you stopped short as a soldier greeted you with a nod. “You are needed at the gathering, there is a matter that needs to be discussed with the highest-ranking soldiers on duty the next days.”

Oh, that tasted so much like Loki that you rolled your eyes but nodded. Mustering the bravery and composure of a soldier again you stepped into the room and nodded to your King and his sons sitting together at the far end. “My presence was required my King?!”

“Indeed, Loki pointed out that it would be futile to discuss matters without the ones doing the deed.”

Loki grinned and inclined his head to you.

“I did certainly, Father was so kind to listen to my…appeal...”

Uh oh, he used the word out of his last text.

Standing up and coming over to you Loki pinned you to the spot with his gaze.

“So my dear (Y/N)… please sit and help us to formulate a plan were nobody feels left out or even…punished!” He motioned to a chair directly opposite him and waited until you sat down before he pushed you a bit to the table.

Loki walked leisurely back to his seat as Odin gave another run down on security matters for everybody new to this gathering. Loki sat down and you could feel his gaze on you as you tried to concentrate and listen to what Odin had to say.

“I said I would punish you for teasing your prince...” A very mischievous voice sounded quietly next to your ear.  Loki had made an illusion of him sitting back down in his chair and had disguised himself as he stood behind you. “You are an imaginative little devil my sweet darling, but I am the god of mischief, never forget with whom you tangle!” A single finger stroked from your collarbone up to your neck, right to that spot under your ear that was VERY responsive.

You tried to hide a shudder and pressed your legs together. Only to find them pushed open by invisible hands on your inner thighs. Good, that the table was hiding everything from the eyes of everybody else. A hand pressed down on your core above the leather. Oh boy, you were in big trouble!

You saw Odin’s mouth move, but couldn´t begin to understand what he was talking about.

Your ears full of your own heartbeat that got faster and faster.

“….and I do think that would be a rather good strategy…what do you say, Loki?” 

Saved by Odin….

You needed to hide a chuckle as the hands on you suddenly stopped and you imagined how Loki crawled under the table back to the illusion that sat in his chair. You could see the exact moment when it actually was Loki again. He needed to clear his throat for a second and answered.

“Yes, father. I think you have filled out all the wholes that needed to be revised in our strategy.”

 Smooth, sooo smooth.

“Did I… Ha!” Odin laughed and looked to Thor. “Are you too contend, my son?”

Thor nodded and said. “Yes, I think this will work out just fine, we do have enough soldiers on duty so that we can allow the higher ranks to attend the festive this year.” With a glint in his eyes he looked over to Loki and Loki smiled very pleased as he said.

“I do look forward to see you in a formal gown (Y/N).”

“What?!”

Odin lifted his eyebrow.

“You heard my son! YOUR Prince wants to see you in a gown, so please his appeal and dress up dear! You know that I am rather fond of you, but as good a soldier you might be, you can´t attend in leather and amour on this special occasion!” Loki leaned back in his chair with a smirk and clicked his tongue.

“That would be all for the moment, thank you for your time. I believe you have a dress to choose!”

Oh, he would pay for that!!!

 Nodding your goodbyes before you left the room you beelined it to the dressmaker of the court, who fortunately happened to be your friend. Opening the door without knocking you looked at her in displeasure.

“Your dreams have come true… I need a dress! And a VERY stunning one that will knock men and gods and everybody of their feet!” Catherine clapped her hands and grinned

“Oh, I prayed to Odin for that day to come. I might already have something ready. You just need to choose a colour that would suit you for this occasion!”

 Smiling at your friend you nodded and the both of you got to work on that dress of yours.

 2 hours later you were pleased with what Catherine had come up with and you had chosen a colour that was to your liking. Walking through the long corridor you stopped to step onto a balcony with the most beautiful view you knew in Asgard. Looking down onto the blooming gardens with the most exotic and beautiful scented flowers of all the 9 realms you took a deep breath and smiled. This was home. This was were your heart belonged. You liked adventures from time to time, but you felt most at ease here.

 A hand grabbed you and tucked you behind a hefty column, pinned you to it with a lean and muscular body. The scent was very familiar, so you didn´t defend yourself as a hot mouth crashed onto yours and your lips fought each other in a battle of lust. Your hands grabbed into raven black hair and tucked his head back a little. “What do you think you are doing?” You asked him a little breathless.

“Kissing my lady that has teased me with pictures of her striking body even if it only was a leg and your collarbone. Even those sparse looks can give a man ideas! And I do have time for a quickie!”

He smirked and winked at you.

 Grabbing Loki by the soft leather of his collar you bit his lip a little and grinned.

“Mhmm, but ideas they will stay, as I have places to be and things to do after you tricked me into a dress just to….punish me for not answering your … appeal.” Reversing your positions, you pressed into him and smiled sweetly. “My Prince If you would excuse me now…” A last hard kiss and you sashayed away hearing Loki letting out an exasperated sigh.

 It was a dangerous game to play with the god of mischief, but OH wasn´t it fun!

 Outside in the courtyard you looked around and saw a lot of happy faces, giddy and excited for the festivity. There was a lot of activity as well. Flowers being arranged, general cleaning and decorating, things were moved from left to right. Walking around a fountain you heard your name being called.

Slowly you turned in the direction to see Frigga, your queen coming towards you.

 “My dear, I was informed you would be attending the festivity not as guard but yourself. I am very pleased to hear that you finally decide to indulge in pleasure instead of always looking out for the safety of us!” Frigga touched your shoulder and smiled a warm smile. Serving as her personal guard now and then you got to know her very well, and liked her a lot!

“I´m afraid to say that I didn´t chose this pleasure myself, my queen…You know me, I would rather dress in leather then a gown at any given day!” Frigga laughed and waved your comment away.

“Pleasure is pleasure my dear, you might as well indulge in it and enjoy the night.”

 Frigga tucked her arm under yours and started to walk with you.

“Tell me, what do you plan to do with your gorgeous hair and those striking eyes of yours?”

You couldn´t believe it…from choosing a gown to beauty talk with the queen, did you wake up in an alternate universe?! The look on your face must have been telling, because Frigga laughed and said:

“Come with me, you look rather lost, had I asked about knives and armour you would be talking about your newest blade by now. Let me take care of you for once!”

 This kept getting better and better… an hour later you found yourself in Frigga’s chambers being pampered like a princess of the court. Your phone signalled a message.

 Loki: Where are you my lady? You left me with a throbbing … Problem earlier!

 You: Stop that, I am in your mothers’ chambers getting who knows what onto my skin and into my hair. I think I am cleaner than I have ever been before.

You knew that Loki would have a field day with that info, he probably was laughing his firm behind off just this second. A new message came in. Looking around to see it was safe to look at it you gasped for a second.

Loki: So, are you telling me that you are naked and oiled up? Mhmm, why have I never thought of doing that?

Before you could send him a few words to shut him up another message came in.

Loki: Then I better get cleaned up myself. Undressing just now…

A picture of your shower came after the text…and another one of his leathers on the ground.

He was in your chambers. In your shower….naked…

You: Stop teasing me Loki, and stop sending pictures I am with your mother for god sake!

 Loki: Oh, darling….and I was with my brother and father earlier this day as you teased me…deal with it!

And with that you got a picture of his abs with a peek down to his underwear, that was clearly bulging more than normal.

 You should have known better then to tangle with the god of mischief.

 Loki: Do you want me to soap myself up all the way? Clean every…inch…every long and hard inch of myself?

 Biting your lip, you looked at the picture again. Oh yes you wanted that, but you wanted to do it yourself…maybe tie him to the…

“(Y/N) dear, you look flushed…are you feeling well?” Frigga’s voice pulled you out of your little daydream. You almost dropped the phone into the water your feet were stuck in.

“No, no…it´s just hot…in here…the water I mean…”

 Your phone vibrated in your hands again. It could instead have been an electric shock jolting through you as much as you flinched as you saw the picture of Loki’s chest glistening wet with soap flowing down. You had to give him that, he did take rather hot selfies without showing to much and ruining the imagination.  

 “Oh my, you aren´t used to that much attention, I´m sorry if I overwhelmed you, but you are like a daughter to me, and I want you to knock the men over with your appearance. Not that you aren´t stunning in your leather love, you are, but I´d like to see you in a gown myself!”

Oh, you would definitely knock someone over today, but not with your looks.

And that someone was standing in your shower just this second!

 Frigga smiled softly at you and said “Alright dear, we will end this for now, but I want you to come back in 3 days to try something with your hair. You do know the formal dance that needs to be danced?” Shaking your head in horror you looked even more horrified as Frigga said.

“Don´t worry my dear, I will teach you…and ask Loki to accompany us. He is the best dancer in the family.”

 This really had to be an alternate reality. Or an out of body experience…

 The “We will end this for now” took another half an hour and was accompanied with a new picture from Loki, laying naked in your bed only covered by the bedspread over his groin, the setting sun kissing his rippled chest. What had you gotten yourself into? He clearly won that round of teasing…by miles! After that pictures and his texts your imagination had run wild into a very specific, not save to be around other people kind of place. Striding down the corridor to get to your room and the man lying in it you almost made a run for it.

 Only to get stopped by Thors booming voice rare meters away from your door.

“(Y/N), what´s the hurry?” Groaning internally, you mustered a fake smile and turned to look at Thor.

“Nothing, I just wanted to enjoy my day of and indulge in a good novel…”

“Books..” Thor rolled his eyes. “Can´t think of a more boring way to end the day…come with me to a pre-feast, let´s get drunk and dance on the table afterward!”

 Laughing at the memory of the one night you had said yes to the same proposal you grinned.

“I was ill for 3 days after that, I don´t think that would be wise tonight. Sleep well Thor, you should rest up too!” With a huff he walked away. Opening your door and closing it with a bang you turned the lock!

“You better be ready to please…” The bed was empty, the sheets all tangled. He clearly had been in this room, his scent still lingered in here. Frustrated you threw your armour onto a chair after you got rid of it. Only to gasp as in the same chair appeared a very naked Loki grinning at you with your armour in hand. “That novel you were talking about to my brother….”

Your armour fell to the ground with a thud.

“…May I be able to turn it into some rather dirty, erotic and slightly kinky… graphic display?!”

 Tags for : @drakesfiance @confessionsofastrugglingteen @shinebrightlikeafanbase

[bilgesnipebitch]

1.5K Writing Challenge

Well, here’s my submission for @myattemptatfanfic‘s 1.5k writing challenge! Hope you enjoy!

Title: The Eyes of a God

Author: @bilgesnipebitch

Pairing: Loki x reader

Word Count: 3177 (whoops)

Warnings: angst-ish, swearing, tiny bits of fluff I guess?

Prompt will be in Bold

And huuuuge thanks to my two idiot friends who helped me edit! (jk, love you guys <3)

“Do you want to hear the story or not?” his soothing laughter bounced its way through your apartment.

You could hardly control your own laughter, holding your stomach and nearly in tears. “Yes yes. I’m sorry, Loki. Please continue.”

“Anyways, there we were—staring down this disgusting, 3,000 pound creature,”

“Was it Thor?” you cracked, knowing just how much Loki disliked his brother.

He let out something between a cackle and a howl, “You wouldn’t be too far off there, Love.”

You grinned like an idiot, your eyes sparkling with joy, “So come on, what happened next?”

“Well, we just ran as fast as our legs could carry us and returned to the party like nothing had happened at all. Mind you, we absolutely reeked of manure, but I suspect nobody had the nerve to tell us.”

You both doubled over, rolling around the couch hysterically. You could feel your eyes begin to tear up and your cheeks ache, but, for just that small moment, you were at peace. You let the rush of endorphins wash over you as your laughter died down, and you wiped your dewy eyes.

“How do you come up with such great stories, Loki?” you turned to face the raven-haired man, taking slight notice that his greasy mop was beginning to get pretty long.

“I keep telling you, Love; these things really happened to me.”

“Mmmhmm,” you gave a playful eye roll, to which Loki snickered.

“Ok, fine, maybe I just have the loveliest muse in the nine realms to inspire me,” he reached out to delicately stroke your soft cheek with his thumb.

“Damn, you’re smooth,” you laughed and looked into his familiar eyes, morning-blue with just a dash of grey, and you never wanted the moment to end.

But of course, the fates are a cruel bunch of crones, and all good things must eventually come to an end. You savored every single day you could spend with Loki, but as much as you tried to make those small moments with him last for the rest of eternity, the tiny little moments just kept marching on, virtually whizzing past, turning into hours, days, weeks, months, and soon enough, those little moments of peace became a scarce commodity, few and far between. You began to notice a change in the man you loved so dearly; he started to become more… calloused, cynical, closed-off. It confused you, and honestly hurt you, to see him so obviously struggling with something beyond his own strength, but he would just never open up to you. He would never let you share some of his burden, so you could do nothing but watch it fester and boil inside him.

You looked out the window and sighed, the steely grey sky that had loomed over you the past few days had finally begun to let down a gentle drizzle: not enough to soak any unfortunate soul who happened to be caught in the storm, but just enough to make them uncomfortably damp. You chewed on your lip in habit and walked up next to the sofa carefully.

“All I’m saying is, well, I’d like a little more... respect? I’m not your maid after all, Loki.” He inclined his head toward you from his spot on the couch. “I know, Love. And I respect you.” You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, keeping your eyes fixed on the carpet. “I... I know. I guess I would just like you to... show it a bit more.” He set down the remote with a sigh and turned to face you fully. “What’s this about? The Christmas party? You’re the one who turned it into a scene.” You furrowed your brows and looked up to meet his capturing blue gaze. Those eyes that you’d seen hold such joy and sorrow and love now sent a shiver of fear down your spine, but you didn’t dare look away. “Loki, you showed up an hour late, immediately asked me to go get you coffee from a shop across town, and refused to socialize until I did.” “I don’t know my way around this place, Love; we’ve been over this. And I offered to go with you.” “Yes, but I wanted to stay at the party. I was having fun. Why should I have to drop everything I’m doing to fulfill your every whim?” “Oh, well excuse me for asking for a bloody cup of coffee,” his voice dripped with contempt. “But would it kill you to pick up a map sometime and actually learn how to get around town?” “I don’t have time for that, Y/N. I have much more important matters to attend to.”

You could practically feel your anger bubbling up inside you at this point. He’d used this excuse one too many times to fool you anymore.

“Oh, but you have time to sit on your ass and watch tv?” “I happen to be listening for a crucial bit of information on the news. Not that you’d understand, of course; the Midgardian mind has its limits.” You clenched your jaw and balled your fists. That was it. You refused to stand there as he blatantly insulted you and your entire species. “You pompous asshole. I’m sick of you pulling this shit, thinking I’m too stupid to see through all your lies. I’m not an idiot!” He scoffed grimly and stood to his full height. He began to step toward you, towering a good foot over your head, but you stood steadfast. This also wasn’t the first time he’d pulled the height difference trick to intimidate you. You may well be a small, insignificant Midgardian, but you’d be damned if you didn’t finally stand your ground against this man. You were done being a doormat at his beck and call. “I think you seem to forget—Love—that I am a god. And you... well, not so much,” he reached down to pull your chin up so your eyes met his imposing stare again. Your heart beat out of your chest and legs threatened to give out beneath you. Gathering all your strength, you clenched your jaw, swallowed your fear as best you could, and stared directly into his steely eyes.

“God or not, you will treat me with respect,” you paused to keep your voice steady, “or you will leave my apartment right now.” Loki’s eyebrows raised and settled in a jeer that made you absolutely livid. “That’s cute, you think you can order me around.” “I can when I pay the rent, the electricity, the water, and the food you leech off every time you decide to grace me with your presence.” “Oh, is that what you think whenever I take the time out of my schedule to come visit you? Well, if I’m that much of a nuisance, maybe I should just never visit again!” “Sounds like a plan to me,” and you regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. Loki gave a dry, sardonic laugh, “so that’s how it is, then?” He bent down, planted a small kiss on your cheek, and disappeared without another word.

And just like that, you were completely alone. You could only stand there in silence, the droning, deadpan voices of the television melding together and contorting themselves into unintelligible noise. What have I done? was the only thought that occupied your head.

You could hardly believe it. Sure, you and Loki had your little spats every now and again, but you always made up afterward. You always found a way to work through your differences (which there were certainly plenty of). But now you’d gone too far. With a mind of its own, a single tear traced over the spot Loki’s lips had rested only a second before. You felt... numb. You were hurt and relieved and worried and confused and all your emotions swirled together inside you to create an absolute mess and they came flooding out of your eyes as your jelly legs crumpled uselessly beneath you. You looked at your phone on the counter and reached up to contact the only person who knew the whole truth about just who exactly had been your lover the past year. “I-“ you took a deep breath to steady your trembling hands before typing out the rest of your message. “I think I just broke up with Loki.” Reliable as ever, hardly a minute passed before your best friend in the entire world responded “on my way.”

Mia was her name; you two had become friends in your grade school days and have been absolutely inseparable ever since. Oddly enough, you first met her when she stuck a piece of gum in your hair and felt so guilty afterward that she promised to do your homework for a week. From then on, she was with you every step of the way, even when things got pretty ugly, and you both did the best you could to support each other through it all. To be frank, she was one of the strongest people you’d ever met and you had no idea where you’d be without her.

Your heart threatened to stop entirely at the sound of the doorbell, but you slowly rose to your unsteady feet, finally remembering that you had a visitor on her way. You opened the door, eyes bloodshot and body visibly trembling. “Hey Mia,” your voice came out barely above a whisper. “Oh hon,” she pulled you into an embrace before entering and sitting you down on the couch with her. And you told her everything that had happened, that you felt, that you wished you’d done or said differently, and it was a strange sort of catharsis to just have somebody else who knew.

“You see? I told you he was no good. I knew from the way he would push you around like you were beneath him or something.”

You gave a dejected sigh, “but you don’t know him like I do... er, did. He never opened up to strangers very well, but when it was just the two of us, he was funny and charming and sweet and he would tell me the most intricate stories and he took me to the most beautiful places and—“ your voice began to waver again. Mia took your hand in her own, “but that doesn’t mean you have to put up with all his manipulative bullshit. That kind of relationship isn’t healthy for you, and you tried to talk to him about it like a rational adult. If he can’t respect you as an equal, then he doesn’t deserve you.” And for the next six months, you clung to those words for dear life. “He doesn’t deserve me,” you’d say in the mirror every morning. “He doesn’t deserve me,” you’d tell yourself every time your mind began to wander recklessly. “He doesn’t deserve me,” you’d remind yourself every five minutes on dates with people who could never even compare to the man you’d let go. And you almost believed it. Almost. It was the annual Stark gala, and you, being an employee of Stark Enterprises, were “strongly encouraged” to attend. You were dressed to the nines, all done up in a flowing, emerald green gown Loki had brought you from Asgard nearly a year ago. As much as you hated the idea of wearing it, you owned absolutely no other “fancy” clothing to speak of and could barely afford your own food at this point. Apparently, unbeknownst to you, Loki had been making regular deposits into your bank account and had stopped doing so ever since your breakup. God knows where he got that money anyways. He could’ve stolen it. Or maybe even killed for it. I don’t want his filthy murder money, you tried to reassure yourself. And then it all went to shit. There he was, in the goddamn flesh, laughing next to the cocktail bar. You really regretted not inviting a date with you now. You looked around the room for some coworker you might know or a bathroom or something, anything to avoid talking to Loki, but it was too late. Your heart skipped a beat as the man you recognized as Thor, whom you’d met only once before, pointed you out to his brother and motioned for you to join them.

You contemplated simply running out the nearest exit, but your feet seemed to have plans of their own as you found them carrying you closer and closer to the bane of your existence for the better half of a year now. You tried your best to put on a polite smile and greeted Thor warmly, as well as his date, not daring to even glance Loki’s way. “Hello, Y/N,” You heard the devil himself croon behind you.

As much as I don’t want to respond, I don’t things to be awkward the rest of the night. And I certainly don’t want to cause a scene.

You let out the smallest of sighs and turned around to face Loki. “Oh, Loki, I didn’t see you there,” and everybody present knew that was a big, fat lie. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He wore that mischievous, shit-eating grin of his that made you just want to punch out every single one of his teeth. “Yeah, 6 months...” you lowered your gaze from the chiseled features of his deathly pale face to carefully examine the enthralling subject of your own shoes, the floor, or anything really—anything except that man. You just couldn’t stand to look into those crystal-blue eyes.

“Oh, Layla, have I introduced you to Stark?” Thor broke the tense silence, and your heart immediately sank into your stomach. You pleaded with any deity that might exist, but nevertheless, Thor politely excused himself and walked off into the bustling crowd with his date, leaving only Loki and yourself at the bar. Damn you, Thor.

You cleared your throat, sat down next to the man you thought you’d never see again in your short, insignificant, mortal life, and ordered a drink in hopes to make it even shorter. If you were lucky, maybe you’d drop dead right then and there and be able to avoid the awkward conversation you knew lurked just moments away.

“Lovely dress, Y/N. Where’s it from?” Loki quipped with a sideways glance.

“The dollar store, probably,” you didn’t dare even look at the man, keeping your gaze fixed directly in front of you.

He let out a light hiss of air and chuckled, shaking his head.

“Good to know you hold my birthday gift in such high esteem.”

Aaand now you felt like an ungrateful bitch. Boy, did he know how to play the guilt card.

“So, how have you been?” He straightened up to take another swig of his mead. Awful. It took nearly all your strength to keep the thought from tumbling right out of your mouth. “I’ve been good... how about you?” you managed to spit out. “Honestly Dove, not too well.” The bastard did that on purpose. He knows I loved that nickname. “Oh, well that’s too bad I suppose. At least you and Thor getting along now apparently?” “Yes, we’ve made our peace, settled old squabbles, the like.” “Good, good,” You took a sip of your drink, which had finally arrived, and nearly choked on it at the next words out of Loki’s mouth. "Do you miss me?" he asked, a hint of a devilish grin in his eyes. "No," you reply, stopping your real feelings from creeping up your throat and satisfying his cruel curiosity. But you never were able to lie to him. He chuckled and turned to face you, expression slowly melting from amusement to something more akin to gravity, perhaps even sincerity. “Listen, Y/N, I acknowledge that... perhaps I wasn’t treating you fairly.” You wanted to say something, anything, but words completely escaped you in the moment. Loki just glanced downward, took a deep breath, and continued. “And I’m aware that I can be a bit entitled sometimes. And I can be an oblivious idiot and sometimes... Sometimes, I end up hurting those I love the most,” his eyes flicked up to catch your gaze, and unlike the last time you’d seen them, they seemed full of a familiar, genuine warmth once again. “Loki, I-“ you sighed. “Look, Y/N, I know I have a lot to make up for, but all I’m asking for is a chance to do just that.” “I don’t know, Loki...” He reached out tentatively to take hold of your hand. He cupped it delicately, as if it were made of fine porcelain. “Just one more chance?”

You sighed again, entirely at a loss for words. You felt almost like a ship inside, violently whipped around in a storm of your own emotions and barely managing to hold yourself together. On the one hand, spending some time away from Loki had allowed you to realize that your relationship just wasn’t healthy. You let him take advantage of you. You rationalized his twisted motives. Honestly, you had just never felt like his equal the entire time you were together. But as much as you hated to admit it, you could never deny that your heart ached at the mere thought of him. You were still in love with Loki, there was no doubt, but your better judgement screamed at you that giving this man a second chance might just prove to be the biggest mistake of your life. You swallowed dryly.

Taking one final deep, grounding breath, you opened your mouth, but your words caught in your throat, refusing to come out. “I’ve changed so much since we last saw each other, Y/N. I’m getting along with my brother now, for heaven’s sake!” he added with a small chuckle. It was true, Loki did seem different. For one, Loki would have never pleaded with you like this for a second chance. No, the Loki you knew had far too much pride for that. So what in the world could have possibly happened to him in the last 6 months? “Loki... I think—“ you sighed. “I don’t think we should get back together.”

Loki’s features began to droop ever so slightly. “But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just stay... friends?” He perked back up somewhat and put on a smile to mask his disappointment, “I would like that, Y/N.” You gave a thin smile as well, and you both sipped your drinks in a moment of silence. “Sounds like you’ve got quite the story to catch me up on though.” “Oh, you have no idea,” he laughed.

And he told you all his wonderful tales of adventure, drama, love, and loss, and it felt like you were back in your apartment on some cold winter’s day with freshly brewed tea and everything was right with the world. It felt as if nothing at all had changed between you. And it gave you hope that perhaps... you two could make this work.

[firebirdsdaughter]

When you wish you were asleep…

… Watch raws! XD

Actually, I still kind of wish I was asleep. Maybe I’ll grab a nap after this. (-_-)

But on to my children!

In no order and w/ many typos:

Okay, look. Wyzul’s not ‘weak,’ he’s just meant to have essentially the opposite style of Tankjoh. He’s a ‘planner.’ The manipulative, cunning ‘evil genius type.’ Doesn’t mean anyone has to like him, or think he’s a good villain—hell, I promise you I already miss Tankjoh, too—but he’s not ‘weak.’ He just has a different style. His plan this week was actually rather clever.

Sorry. Wanted to get that off my chest. I miss Tankjoh, too, but I actually like that they followed him w/ a general w/ an opposite style, that the one time Tankjoh kind of tried it, it got him killed (the plan w/ the Cerberus Minusaur).

XD TOUWA. Oh, honey. Who put you in the back? ^^

Knowing the twist makes this whole thing all the more hilarious, somehow.

Though this plan was actually rather clever! If Cardena hadn’t had a few slips in her words… Though admittedly, she was so clearly anxious about it that Banba and/or Melto might have caught onto something anyway, but… It was close.

Banba’s become naturally suspicious, so he may have doubted them anyway, but… It could’ve worked.

Poor Touwa’s so short. And even Banba is kinda hiding in the back there! XD

Other facts about Banba: Google Earth, always taking pics.

Ah, yes, we’re sneaking in. Let us yell, loudly! XD Ah, Toku…

Odd place to keep things, honestly…

There’s something incredibly goofy about the fact that this confrontation is taking place in a cramped stairwell…

They forgot the little men for Banba and Touwa’s transformations. XD

Everyone else is in the middle of fighting a Drunn. Banba has alreday freaking killed his. ><

I think Touwa just asked Wyzul to repeat himself bc they didn’t catch it the first time. And Asuna just figured it out? Uncertain.

Wait. Waitwaitwaitwaitwait. I guess it’s Pink??? But she looks purple???

Curse my inability to put an image in the middle of a bulleted list! Curse my attachment to bullet points! DX

I’ll put it at the bottom?

Touwa here, stealing the monster’s lines. XD

Rip unnamed Drunn.

I’m confused as to whether Cardena was trying to tip them off, or just conflicted and getting anxious. Most likely the latter, as she didn’t seem to understand they’d figured it out later.

My watching experience is foiled once more by how INCURABLY BEAUTIFUL TATSUYA IS! DX

Now she’s getting the hairy eyeball from both big brother/dad and mom. XD Deception check failed.

Is that a thing?

They are dunking on this man so hard. I mean, he doesn’t seem to mind, but…

I really hope that smirk really was just Tatsuya and wasn’t planned. I like how they had trouble getting the ‘towel scene’ (a line ad libbed by Simon Pegg) bc Zachary Quinto kept laughing, so they just went w/ a scene where he jus barely smirks and they cut away real fast. This is smaller, scale, of course, it’s very low key and I only noticed it bc I am almost always watching Banba in any given scene, but it’s funny to think it was unscripted.

Aw, I thought Dad was an alright singer. Also, love Ui’s face here. ^^ And she tries to comfort him, such a sweetheart.

Aw, Touwa also looks like he’s finding it cute, too. ^^ I’m still thinking of Touwa and Ui as the ‘babies’ of the fam. Resident youngest sibs. :)

Nah, Banba doesn’t trust this situation enough to start stabbing people, don’t worry, Kou.

Pretty sure he’s just looking for an excuse to leave, actually.

Melto takes the opportunity to go full mom friend.

Banba’s like ‘so one of you was paying attention.’

There’s never any indication here if Touwa figured it out, too. I’m inclined to think he didn’t? But I don’t know.

Why must Tatsuya persist in being so attractive??? DX

Okay, guess it’s confirmed they can call Ui from the braces. … How. Did they program her number into them? Is there some frequency that they tapped her phone into?

Also, largely unrelated, but Ui is really pretty. She really is. She makes goofy faces sometimes, but this actress is really beautiful. I’m love her. ^^

She’s jack awful at lying, though.

Though it is justified that no one caught on, here. How would Wyzul know how modern human technology works? And Cardena’s an alien. And neither of them know Ui very well. She could be like this all the time for all they know.

But also… Did Melto text her? How did she know to leave her phone?

I say Cardena didn’t catch on bc she doesn’t seem to have realised that they knew later.

Tall Cheese seems to be having a good time hamming it up, and that is valid of her.

Really, though. There’s no way they would have actually released Tall Cheese, if this had worked. That’s not Short Cheese’s fault, she didn’t have many options, but I highly doubt Wyzul intended to honour any sort of deal.

I realise I shamefully remembered Short Cheese’s name in the rest of this post. Whoops. I’d go back and fix it, but now it’s funny… ^^;

Oh, yeah. And this explains why Tall Cheese was looking so evil in those photos.

So… Was Wyzul actually just sitting chained up in the park the whole time?

But also… Wyzul is a shapeshifter. Toei, would you mind…? >:)

Synchronised staring at Kou. XD

Oh, yeah. Moment of appreciation for Tatsuya sitting on the bloody playground equipment like a freaking model.

Banba going for a low blow, there. But he has a point.

And… Kou hits a button. We’ve only really seen Banba be this angry when yelling at Crayon the Mushroom Man about curing Touwa, I think… Makes me wonder if the betrayal he suffered happened in a situation like this? He took a risk for someone in a similar fashion, but it turned out they were lying and stabbed him in the back? Like, loosely similar, maybe. Like… Kou’s reaction clearly hits a nerve.

GAH! Toei, give me more to go on! DX

He backs down, though. Either bc he’s still soft for sibling relationships and can’t help it, or he’s getting soft about Kou—or both. This makes me think even more that he’s never killed anyone before. For all his apparent willingness to do so, in the end he can’t got through w/ sacrificing someone like that.

Esp not when considering it while staring into Kou’s sad puppy eyes.

As Touwa mysteriously vanishes from the shot, despite being exceedingly close by a moment ago.

Though… Banba seeing the fact that Kou et al. being willing to sacrifice what’s important to them for what’s important to others… And seeming kinda effected by that… Is kinda fuel for my ‘he ends up trying to protect their innocence/kindness’ idea? In, like… A ‘I’m the expendable one’ kinda way? Not exactly, but… Augh, explaining is hard. I’m sure I’ll think of one later. DX

Like… Could lead to a moment later where he tries to sacrifice himself/something so that they don’t have to? Or forcibly decides to be the sacrifice for something.

Oh, boy, that sounded weird.

Tyramigo is adorable, and will be the death of me.

Tyramigo be like ‘Is this the bomb I’m meant to eat?’ Then checks w/ Kou just to be sure. ‘Eat the bomb? Okay, eat the bomb!’

Him going ‘aaaaaaaah’ like a little baby, he’s so cute. DX

And how it awkwardly cuts out when she says ‘don’t.’ XD

HOW DID SHE NOT CATCH ON? Either her lysing skill improved significantly, or she completely misunderstood Kou’s nod here.

HOW DID HE SWALLOW HE HAS NO THROAT. O_o

They are dunking this poor man so hard… But, like, he’s listed as a special guest star, so I guess he doesn’t mind, and he seems happy, but… XD

Banba in the back: Google Earth, always taking pics.

Actually, that’s him at any given moment, really.

So… Were those copies of them, too?

Kou, you do not get to call people ‘baka.’ You are the baka!

I don’t actually know what he said. Could have been a different word.

Where were they hiding? Did they hang off the edge of the roof? Stairwell?

Banba not only refuses to smile, he sighs like he’s only there under duress.

He maintains his carefully practiced grumpy face for the whole scene, too. XD

Aw, I think Touwa just said ‘we barely did anything.’ Honey, I watched the flashback, you were the other person making copies.

Synchronised brother head tilt. Seriously, they’re at exactly the same angle. Ah, family. XD

Touwa loves it, Banba is required by contract to keep glaring.

His little awkward looking at the ground after, like ‘shit they’re cute’ what do I do??’… ^^ XD <3

They did do great, though. Plus he knew they’d never leave him alone if he didn’t do something there. XD But he is getting fond of them. Will probably be in denial until something happens and then have a freak out. Maybe it won’t even be that big, maybe it will just be Gold shows up and he finds himself getting protective. But I like big. ^^

Oh, please let Gaisoulg be who I hope it it… >.<

Aaaah! They’re so pretty! DX

So… Is it still a Minusaur if it didn’t come from a human?

What’s this? Minusaur is evolving!

Wait… So so they all turn into dragons when they complete????

I guess they didn’t tell her how Minusaurs actually work.

MAH BABIES!

How did we get down on the ground? Who knows. Toku.

The others go w/ proper combat Souls. Touwa and Kou use the balloon Soul and the shiny Soul. At least one of those kinda makes sense.

Aw, she’s self conscious. ^^

What I think I love most is that she’s clearly putting conscious effort into being out of tune. Which she can do bc the actress actually knows how to sing. XD

Asuna playing the drums is SO CUTE. I’M GONNA DIE.

I love how Melto explaining implied the brothers asked.

And the fact that you can just hear her in the background through the whole scene.

I realise it was Wyzul impersonating her, but it seems like something he might pick up from the real her to make it more believable. Plus Short Cheese had a a name for it, making it more likely.

Gods love her, she’s putting so much effort into it.

Banba briefly checking on Touwa when he rejoins them. ^^ I love this family.

Short Cheese thanks everyone, and the kids smile, but Banba gets embarrassed. XD

Oh dear. Wyzul knows we’re in a TV show…

Ui playing the demanding voice instructor is ADORABLE. XD

Kou and Melto in the corner imitating Banba. XD

Next week, looks like Melto is piloting Kishiryu Oh alone, Biker Dad returns (as an illusion), and the kids get stuck in Wonderland when Banba turns his back on them for five minutes.

I’m kidding, I don’t actually know if his subplot is at all related to Wonderland. All it says is that he’s dealing w/ an ‘antiques dealer.’ I have this wild theory that what the summary means is that ‘Wonderland’ is inside a box (the chest that’s referenced in the title and is the goal of the ‘attraction’), and then Banba also ends up chasing it around. Alternatively, he could just end up in a situation where he’s wandering around like ‘have you seen five brightly dressed dork children? I left them right here, but I looked away for one minute and they all disappeared.’ Or he doesn’t know at all. The magazine did say something about him doing things alone… Maybe he’ll get himself into trouble and they’ll have to come save him in episode 10. I mean, we know he’s gonna get a plot about not doing everything himself eventually.

I’ll leave everyone w/ this thought: the shapeshifting Druidon general now knows where the Tatsuis live.

That’s all, folks! Virtual rock candy for anyone who read all that. Excited for next week. I hope we get episode summaries for the next few eps, soon, as that might give me more of an idea as to whether I was actually right. I like the idea of Banba chasing a box that may or may not have his younger siblings in it around the city and drama that could ensue. But they could go other ways w/ this subplot. Like… Maybe the antiques dealer is the hooded person? Or Banba is trying to investigate the hooded person? Or it’s Gaisoulg (please be who I want you to be, Gaisoulg!)? Or an early cameo of Gold? Or a Druidon? Or a completely inconsequential side character. Who knows.

Oh, yeah! Purple chibi!

Though… I guess it’s Pink? It… It looks purple, though… Wait. Could it be… Magenta?

[susandwrites]

Fallen Through Time - Chapter Seven

Read on AO3.

Sherlock extended a confident hand and waved down his first Victorian cab. As John climbed in, he said to the driver, “Bart’s Hospital, please.” The man nodded and Sherlock slid into the back of the carriage, settling in beside John.

“I have a friend who works in the morgue who should be able to sneak us a peek at the murder victim,” John said, unbuttoning his jacket and making himself comfortable. “Perhaps we’ll be able to suss something out without traveling through time or giving chase to a stalker in the forest.”

Sherlock huffed a little laugh. “It would be helpful to finally have uninterrupted access to the body,” Sherlock mused. He ran his hands over the fabric of his new suit, admiring the handsome plaid pattern, and it occurred to him that John had made rather a large sacrifice in paying to clothe Sherlock. He had deduced when he first met John that he was living above his means simply for the sake of living in London and not begging to his family, and now he had gone and spent what much surely be a large sum of money on a man he had only just met. And kissed. Rather spectacularly. Sherlock felt his cheeks flush; John had done him a favour, apparently out of the goodness of his heart.

“John,” he said, keeping his face as smooth as possible, “I’d like to thank you for the suit. Sincerely. It was… quite generous of you.”

John looked almost taken aback. He blinked a little confusedly and uttered, “Oh — ah, of course. Think nothing of it.” He offered Sherlock an awkward little smile and turned his face back to the window. Doesn’t like to talk about money. Noted. Is that why he won’t go to his family? Oh, no. His family is why he doesn’t like to talk about money. Unsure of the next “appropriate” thing to say, Sherlock decided to leave it be. He had done what was socially required when a person does one a favour and, surprisingly, he had meant it. Sherlock continued to fiddle with his jacket until he felt something in his pocket. His eyebrows furrowed, Sherlock extracted a small slip of cardstock. It was printed with a delicate image of a bouquet of roses and read, “Miss Janine Hawkins, 43 George Street.”

“What on Earth?” Sherlock mumbled and John turned to see what he was on about. Sherlock turned the card for John to see and was surprised when John’s face split into a wide grin. “What?”

“It seems Miss Hawkins would like to see more of you, Mister Holmes,” he teased with a bright laugh. At Sherlock’s continued confusion, he explained, “It’s her calling card ‒ so you know where to find her. Surely people do something similar in your own time?”

“My understanding is that when young people are interested in coitus they send small pictures of aubergines and peaches via their mobile phones to the object of their affection.” Now it was John’s turn to be confused.

“Whatever for?”

“I believe it is due to their vague resemblance to human genitalia.” John’s eyebrows flew nearly to his hairline and Sherlock chuckled.

“Dear God,” he muttered, utterly scandalised.

“I know. Vulgar, isn’t it?”

“Rather.” They made eye contact and were soon enveloped in a fit of giggles that lasted until the cab pulled to a stop in front of St. Bart’s Hospital.

The morgue was located exactly where Sherlock remembered it — in the basement — and that small similarity gave him a tiny feeling of reassurance. This was a case, like any other, and he had to go about the Work with the same diligence and fervour with which he treated every case.

John led the way into the morgue, Sherlock following close behind. There were several bodies laid out on work tables, all covered over with heavy linen, and a quick survey told Sherlock that they were, surprisingly, all female.

“Miss Hooper. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” John was saying cordially, and Sherlock’s attention was drawn to a living woman at the back of the room. She turned and offered John a mousey little smile, taking his hand in a polite shake. Her hair was pinned up in a simple, slightly-askew bun and her clothes were plain. Simple. Practical, Sherlock corrected. Durable fabric, no excessive frills, well cared-for but clearly worn regularly ‒ not a large wardrobe, then. Single, lives with a relative ‒ likely an aunt or some such ‒ late twenties, works with her hands.

“You must be quick, Doctor Watson,” Miss Hooper replied in a thin voice. “I’m really not supposed to let you down here while I’m working.”

“Working?” Sherlock inquired with a tilt of his head. “You work with the bodies?”

“Yes,” Miss Hooper replied, slightly surprised by the question. “I’m the undertaker here for women and children. And you are…?”

“Oh! Apologies,” John interjected, “Miss Margaret Hooper, this is my new friend, Mister Sherlock Holmes. He’s a detective, helping me to investigate this murder.” Sherlock gave John a slightly-indignant look at being referred to as someone else’s helper, but he let it slide. He was, after all, the stranger in the strange land. Sherlock offered Miss Hooper a handshake and she took it.

“I didn’t expect a female undertaker,” Sherlock explained, but that earned him a surprisingly-hard expression from Miss Hooper. Her mouth formed a thin line and her eyes narrowed, clearly having heard this sentiment before.

“It’s more common than you might think,” she said, almost accusatory. “Bart’s has a policy against men embalming females and children for the sake of decency. It seems that even dead women are not free from the societal pressures of modesty.”

Sherlock was a little taken aback ‒ he had only suspected that, due to the time period, women would not be allowed to do what was often considered “man’s work”. Certainly, he didn’t think one’s gender had any bearing on their competency. Societal constructs of gender and sex were completely arbitrary, besides. Suddenly, it occured to Sherlock that he had not voiced any of these thoughts and had been staring uncomfortably at Miss Hooper for nearly thirty awkward seconds. “That’s not ‒ I didn’t mean…” he stuttered quickly, but John stepped in.

“I’m sure Mister Holmes is merely surprised,” he supplied helpfully. “He’s never worked with an undertaker before ‒ you must forgive his ignorance, Miss Hooper.” Ignorance? Sherlock had never been accused of ignorance before in his life. Well, except by Mycroft, but he was a cock. John raised a warning eyebrow at Sherlock  and he decided to take the path of least resistance.

“Apologies if I offended you, Miss Hooper. I am grateful for your assistance.” He nearly pulled a muscle from trying to maintain an expression of plausible contrition. But it appeared that Miss Hooper was mollified.

“I’ve heard it often enough,” she said with a sigh. With little fanfare, Miss Hooper approached one of the slabs and whipped the sheet from the body atop the wooden surface. “Mrs. Edith Herraldson, formerly of Swindon, in town visiting her sister who identified her earlier this morning. Thirty-four years of age, stabbed on the left-hand side with a non-serrated blade which punctured her liver and lung.”

“A bit of an expert maneuver, wouldn’t you say?” Sherlock asked casually, bending to take a closer look at the wound in question. “To miss the ribs and not make a mess of the whole affair?”

“I’d say so,” Miss Hopper concurred.

“Are these bruises on her chin?” John was bent over Mrs. Herraldson’s face, his eyebrows furrowed and his fingers gently tilting her head left and right. “Here ‒ along her right jaw.”

Sherlock stepped closer and examined her face from John’s point-of-view. He was correct. “The killer must have gripped her ‘round the mouth as he stabbed her.”

“He?” John asked.

“Most likely, given the spacing of the bruises and the strength required for this kind of stabbing.” Sherlock righted himself and looked down at John, his open face a touchstone for steady thought.

“So he ‒ what? ‒ sat on the bench beside her and held her by the jaw?” One of John’s eyebrows lowered in contemplation. “Why wouldn’t she have moved away? Been afraid or offended?”

“I expect he was making a pass at her.” Sherlock looked quickly around the room before grabbing two chairs and plopping them down side by side. He pointed to one and John sat down before Sherlock took up the other seat. “He joins her on the bench, at a respectable distance, they start chatting and he slowly sidles closer.” Sherlock demonstrated and John turned to look at him with an expression that was somewhere between bemusement and amusement. Dropping his left arm onto the back of John’s chair, Sherlock leaned over him a little as he continued to speak. “He’s making her feel comfortable ‒ flattered, even. She’s not paying attention to his hands.” Sherlock dropped his gaze a little, glancing down at John’s mouth before meeting his eyes again. There was heat in John’s blue irises that hadn't been there a moment before. “It’s the perfect moment to strike.” Sherlock quickly wrapped his left hand around John’s jaw, covering his mouth, and jabbed John in the side with his right index finger. John jumped at the attack and Sherlock smirked. A little huff of embarrassed laughter escaped John’s nose and he practically rolled his eyes as Sherlock stood from their makeshift bench.

“You git,” he said, but there was no real annoyance behind the word.

“I’ve heard it often enough.” Sherlock grinned and offered Miss Hooper a playful little wink. Finally, she smiled at him and shook her head. It occured to Sherlock that in his own time, working with people was an unfortunate evil. He would never have felt inclined to make peace with someone whom he had offended ‒ or even realise that he had offended someone in the first place. But John was introducing him to people, practically insisting that he engage in polite conversation, and for some reason, Sherlock felt inclined to comply. It had been easier, for certain, to deal with people after being nice, if a little more time-consuming. But perhaps, in the long run, it would prove beneficial for people to feel engendered towards him. John truly was proving himself to be an asset to Sherlock’s very existence in this time.

“Well, if the two of you have gotten everything you need,” Miss Hopper said as John replaced the chairs to their proper stations, “Professor Moriarty will be down shortly to make his own notes and I’d rather not be caught letting unauthorised persons in the morgue.”

“Certainly, Miss Hooper,” John said, waving his hat politely before donning it.

“Thank you again.” Sherlock nodded with a small smile, which Miss Hopper returned, and he and John took their leave.

‒‒

“I don’t know what it is you want me to say, Mister Holmes. I know as much as you do.”

“Well, I doubt that very much.” Mycroft sat back in his chair and tapped the capped end of his Montblanc pen impatiently against the surface of his desk. He stared across at Detective Inspector Lestrade with a shrewd expression. “But when it comes to Sherlock Holmes, there are certain details of his everyday life which he still manages to keep from my sight.”

“What makes you think I know anything?” Lestrade demanded, equally impatient but unable to remain as infuriatingly calm as Mycroft. “I need him on this case ‒ a body turns up on Parliament Hill in what Sherlock assures me are authentic Victorian clothes, he goes running off into the woods, we all turn our backs for one second, and next thing he and the body are missing. What am I s’posed to do with that, eh? If I knew where he was, don’t you think I’d be after him myself?”

“I think you know where he is because, loathe though I am to admit it, you do probably know him best.”

“I’ve known him for five years and no I don’t.” Lestrade crossed his arms and flopped back in his own chair, far less comfortable than the one in which Mycroft reclined.

“You’ve been his arresting officer on no fewer than eleven occasions. I believe that gives me reason to suspect that you may have an inkling as to his whereabouts. His most-frequented bolt-holes, the people with whom he usually associated when he… relapses.”

“You’re the one with all this power ‒ you can’t track him or anything?”

“Power?” Mycroft scoffed. “What makes you think I have any power whatsoever?”

“Well, I’ve been sequestered in this office for more than twelve hours, brought here by spooks in an unmarked towncar. And, as you say, I’ve arrested Sherlock at least eleven times and the last time I checked, he doesn’t have so much as a parking ticket on his record. I know I  didn’t pardon him.” Lestrade lifted an eyebrow and gave Mycroft a look that could only be described as sassy. “Now, I will do anything I can to find Sherlock because he’s my friend, it’s my job, and I need his help. But I can’t do anything while I’m trapped in this bloody office.”

Mycroft took a deep breath through his nose and considered the detective before him. “This conversation never happened.”

“I’m sure it didn't.” Lestrade stood from his chair, grabbed up his jacket, and marched through the door.

[crumblepot-redirect]

For the prompts list - #8 for nygmobblepot, please, if you're so inclined?

oh, man i am so inclined hell yeah(this actually got really long? sorry?)

ask me any of the prompts from this list

8. i know we’re best friends and all, but could you maybe be my date to my cousin’s step-sister’s wedding to prove to my judgmental relatives that i can find love and that i won’t be alone for the rest of my life? + nygmobblepot (and a canon divergence where Oswald’s dad survives for the sake of a storyline, and me not wanting to put poor ed in with his family.)

When Oswald’s father divorced his wife, Oswald considered killing the woman and her two children. He considered roasting his step-siblings, cooking them up on a skewer and serving them to their mother, considered hanging them from the high vaulted ceilings of his father’s estate, considered putting their heads on stakes and leaving them in the front lawn to rot. At this point, they’re related merely by history, neither blood or law; there is nothing, for Oswald, presenting resistance to the death of these three terrible, rude people. 

And yet.

“Family is family,” his father says, and Oswald can’t really argue that, because that same sentiment is what keeps him in the family, as well. He supposes he shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds him, that keeps him connected to the only family he has— he loves his father dearly, and his extended family begrudgingly. Overall, he knows his mother would want him to be involved with them, no matter how tacky and judgmental they can be. 

The questions start as soon as Oswald reinserts himself into his family after finding himself once again. His father comes to his aid, defends him where he can, but only so much can be done. 

Sasha is bringing her fiancé to dinner, Oswald. Who will you be bringing?

Surely you must have someone. 

The clock is ticking, Oswald. You aren’t getting any younger.

No children? Not even a wife? Better hurry up.

He doesn’t know the proper way to express that his lifestyle doesn’t quite make room for children, or relationships, for that matter. Often, he jokes that the only way he’ll come into having a child is if one follows him directly off of the playground, imprinting upon him like a duckling. He doubts that will ever happen. 

When he finds out that Sasha is getting married, tearing open an invitation over breakfast while Ed reads through his mayoral schedule, he practically sinks out of his chair. No part of him wants to attend this event. 

His family will never stop asking him questions. God, even Charles has a fiancé. He’s the last one, and they’re sure to let him know. Surely, by now, they wonder if anyone will have him. Pushing thirty, it’s a terrifying existence to consider; dying alone. He’s braved death alone already, he doesn’t particularly want to do it again. It would be nice to have someone at his side. 

Oswald isn’t sure how he asks Ed. He really isn’t sure, when he tries to recall the conversation his mind blanks out and simply provides him with the moment Ed repeats it all back to him; “You want me to pose as your partner for a wedding, to prove your family wrong. That’s fair, and I’m happy to help. Remember, I don’t eat pork.” 

The entire thing is easier said than done, Oswald realizes. None of it seems to be bothering Ed, of course. He stands at Oswald’s left side, arm wrapped around the small of his back, wearing his business smile and his nicest black suit. In pinstripe, Oswald cuts a particularly regal figure next to him, as is the intention. 

Sitting in a church pew is an experience Oswald hasn’t had in years. Ed expresses, briefly before the ceremony begins, that the synagogue he went to as a child didn’t have pews, just folding chairs that would catch his jacket when he sat down. Oswald can’t help but be amused by the image; Ed, all long legs and arms, having to carefully sit down as not to have his jacket fold up. And yet, despite his apparent inexperience in such a setting, Ed fares better than Oswald does. He follows the cues to stand and sit easily, always offering Oswald a hand for assistance— Oswald has to take it every time. 

As soon as they’re allowed to leave, Oswald hauls himself out and back toward the car. He doesn’t want to be stopped by anyone, doesn’t want to talk to anyone; he wants to get in the car, he wants to have the driver take them to the reception dinner, and he wants to drink. Ed, kindly, tries to oblige. 

It’s never so simple, but they make it away from the church without any incident, except for Oswald repeatedly pretending to be on the phone in order to not have to talk to family members. 

Most everyone at the reception dinner who isn’t the family of the groom is related to Elijah’s ex-wife; few Van Dahls remain, and very few of those that do were invited to this particular event. It doesn’t help Oswald, merely makes him feel out of place at a table full of people who likely heard painfully revealing gossip about him as soon as he came into his father’s life. The bastard son, the false heir, the lesser, the criminal. 

He stands closely to Ed’s side as they greet the newlyweds, has to crane his neck to see the groom’s face. The man may be handsome, but there’s absolutely nothing behind the eyes. “What a catch, sister, dear,” Oswald says, voice dripping with insincerity and venom.

“As is yours,” Sasha offers Ed her hand, tugs him down by it to get a better look at him. “Where’d you find this?” 

“A man must have his secrets,” he puts his hand up across Ed’s chest, moves him two steps back from Sasha, “you understand.” 

The groom and Ed share a hollow glance; two men out of place but kept by conviction. Such is love. 

It feels, at least to Oswald, that everyone around them is watching them. Maybe it’s his nerves, naturally tuned into the proper level of vigilance that is required in Gotham, not so much in a wedding, purposefully held upstate. Or maybe, he’s right. 

He’s right, because Ed is doing so well. Ed is laughing at his snarky comments, corroborating his stories with what feels like a practiced ease, catching him before he can stumble, bringing him drinks and stealing hearts all the way. By all accounts, Ed is perfect. (Then again, Oswald already knew that. But to see him fawned over by such hard to please members of his family? It makes something sick and depraved in his heart twist up, like a dry heave the morning after a binge of vodka and rum. It makes him think of that night on the couch, makes him think of the way Ed’s skin gives off fireplace heat, the way Ed looks at him, over his glasses and full of trust. Oswald hears his mother in his ears; What good is love if it is one-sided? He wishes she were here.)

“You ought to marry him,” a woman says to Oswald, quite possibly someone he’s supposed to be related to, as Ed is distracted by a cousin, aunt, grandmother, someone who works in ballistics in Metropolis, “don’t let him get away. He loves you.” 

And maybe it’s a mockery. Maybe she can see right into his desperate eyes, can see through what he hopes come across as loving gazes, right into his longing, his despair, his lack of understanding as to why this is simultaneously the easiest and most difficult thing he’s ever done. Or, maybe, she sees something he doesn’t. He hopes that’s the case. 

“I intend to,” he assures her, speaking loudly enough that Ed will be able to hear him. “I just know there’s no one I’d rather have at my side than him,” Oswald puts his hand on Ed’s knee, makes a show of tensing his fingers around the soft flesh; mine it says, “he’s absolutely remarkable.” 

Ed melts under the praise, casually drops a kiss to the side of Oswald’s head when he gets up for more drinks. Neither of them try to read too heavily into it. With a driver waiting patiently in the car, there’s no excuse for either of them to endure the event sober, and being able to drink allows Oswald to pretend all of this could be real. Just for a minute. 

It all goes so well until Elijah dances with Sasha, passes her off to her new husband with a reverence that only loving fathers can have for their daughters. Oswald admires that, in Elijah; the ability to look past a grudge and see a person who lacks something he can provide. (Sasha has a father of blood, but he isn’t at her wedding, he doesn’t love or appreciate her quite like Elijah does. Elijah spent so long thinking he had no children of his own, couldn’t help himself from loving a daughter who was beautiful like he dreamed his child with Gertrud could have been. It isn’t the girl’s fault that her mother’s hand brought her up cruel and vicious; sometimes it’s safer for a girl to be cruel in Gotham, than it is for her to feel loved. He can’t hold that against her, all he can hope to do is warm a hole through the ice around her.) Oswald knows, despite his relation, he will never be able to be as forgiving as his father. 

It could be all of the alcohol in his system, but Oswald can’t help but be jealous as he watches Sasha’s husband bring her around the floor, as he comfortably dips her and suddenly everyone else is out on the floor with them. Instead of following them, Oswald tucks his chair up next to Ed’s and rubs at his ankle. He listens as Ed describes the various things he’s learned, some news old but Oswald pretends it isn’t, if nothing else but to let Ed speak uninterrupted. Absently, their hands come together and Ed gestures into Oswald’s, draws tiny diagrams with his fingertip into Oswald’s palm. 

He isn’t choked up, because he shouldn’t be. Because he’s the fucking penguin; he’s killed men, destroyed families, uprooted hundred-year-old precedents— he does not get choked up at mere gestures of domesticity. But he does, because he thinks about waking up next to Ed, he thinks about a stupid piece of metal being a representation of something so much bigger, he imagines hyphens and shared safe houses.

“What exactly is it about Oswald?” Someone asks Ed, after having distracted Ed from his lecture on the gossip in the family tree, “I can’t imagine he was your first suitor, is all.” 

“Oswald is fantastic,” Ed says, haughty, tone like he’s stating one of his various facts, tidbits of knowledge that he understands as inherently true and without question. “He’s the only one— he sees me for who I am. There’s nothing more important than authenticity, now is there?” His fingers circle around Oswald’s wrist, then slide up between his fingers, closing down and holding his hand firmly. Ed pats the top of Oswald’s hand, hums contentedly, “Though, honestly, what isn’t to love?” 

Oswald chokes on his emotionality, but covers it up as a cough. He excuses himself, squeezing Ed’s hand before disengaging in the direction of the open bar. The person talking to Ed tries to say “he’s always doing this,” and it makes Oswald want to wheel around and scream. He wants to grab them by the shoulders and say, “You don’t know me, you’ve never known me. Ed knows me,” but he knows that an outburst like that would put all of Ed’s effort to waste. And he’s obviously tried so hard. 

When he gets to the bar he orders something strong, something with vodka, and he has a few. Not enough, not by far, but when he comes back with white wine for the both of them, he’s significantly less capable of listening in to whatever Ed is saying to other people. 

“Would you like to dance?” Ed asks him, later on in the night, once the music has slowed down and the children have filtered out of the reception hall, leaving only those interested in continuing to drink and socialize. “I’m a very good dancer, you know.” 

“I’m sure you are,” Oswald says, and he means it. Ed is good at everything he sets his mind to. “With this leg, though, I’m afraid I’m not.” 

Ed sits, watches the other couples on the floor, before turning back to Oswald with a smile. “Take your shoes off,” he starts to unlace his own, “you can put your bad foot on top of mine. It’ll alleviate the pressure.” 

“I—”

“It’s tradition to dance at weddings,” he argues, “I’m sure it brings bad luck if someone refuses to dance.”

“What if I want to bring her bad luck?” Oswald is sour, though he does work at untying his own shoes and setting them beside Ed’s. He leans his cane against the table and hopes that nobody is stupid enough to try and steal it.

“Then do it for me,” Ed stands up and offers Oswald his hand, so gentlemanly it hurts, “I haven’t been able to do something like this before.” 

For the first few steps, it feels as though neither of them quite knows what to do; both drunkenly stumbling until they find their bearings within one another. Oswald gets used to the feeling of Ed lifting his foot with his own, learns to follow it with his good leg like he does his cane. Doing things traditionally is a lost cause, Oswald a little too tipsy to remember the proper positioning for his hands, so he just wraps his arms over Ed’s shoulders and settles his face against the junction of his shoulder and neck. Ed has to lean down, just a touch, to properly drape his arms around Oswald’s hips, fitting them against one another perfectly. 

“I’ve been rather selfish,” Oswald admits, after they’ve been dancing for a few minutes, “I must confess.” 

“Oh?” At no point does Ed stop their slow swaying, the gradual spin they’re following. 

“I—” He huffs, doesn’t notice how Ed shivers when the breath goes over his neck, “It wasn’t fair of me, to ask you to do this, considering the circumstances.” 

Ed’s arms tighten minutely around his hips, fingertips twitching, “Circumstances?” 

“This entire night, I—” the emotion returns to Oswald’s voice, and while he knows Ed will never mock him for it, he’s still loathe to let it manifest. “I love you, Ed. I don’t know what I thought— it was just— I apologize.” 

“You’re not teasing me,” Ed’s breath is hot and uneven where it flutters over the shell of Oswald’s ear, shuddering like tears or wet brakes, “are you?” 

“God, Ed, no,” when Oswald pulls back, he takes hold of the sides of Ed’s face, grip loose but still caging. Ed can see his sincerity, just as he’s been able to see his jealousy and discomfort the whole night; he’s simply misread it as something negative toward him. “Why would I tease you about—”

Ed dips him back, carefully rearranging his arms so that he can hold Oswald easily, in case his good leg slips out from beneath him. He steals a kiss when Oswald’s mouth is still parted, aborted words no longer daring to escape. It’s simple, sweet, and so easy to get lost in— Ed has to consistently remind himself not to let go of Oswald, not to slide both hands up into his expertly styled hair. 

“You fogged up my glasses,” Ed laughs, once they’ve righted themselves and have resumed dancing. “I love you. I had just—”

It’s Oswald’s turn to kiss Ed, getting up on the tips of his toes despite the pain it causes him. He surges up into Ed, nearly knocks the both of them over and doesn’t even care enough about it to apologize once he’s broken away for breath, “You understand my family will want you at events, after this.” 

“That’s fine with me,” Ed admits, sheepish as he positions his wide palms over Oswald’s hips rather than wrapping his arms around them, “you’ve convinced them to love me, with all your compliments.” 

“I’m afraid you’re starting to do the same,” Oswald’s fingers drag down, over the lapels of Ed’s suit as he makes himself comfortable against his chest, “you make me sound much better than I am. I appreciate that.” 

“I didn’t say anything untrue, you know.” 

“Nor did I.” 

“We’re going to be one of those terribly affectionate couples,” without realizing it, Ed has started tapping the rhythm of the song into Oswald’s hip, “aren’t we?”

“Oh, I do hope so.” 

[anythingstephenking]

Time Traveling Swing Dancers/Teachers/Assassins

Welp, I did it y’all. I made it full circle to the book that started it all, 11/22/63. I read this brick of a book back in 2016, which lead me to The Stand, which led me to a journey towards 73 novels. Bless your heart, 11/22/63.

I just love this book. My first read through back in the day took me only a couple days; my second trip back in time took me almost a week, still a feat for the 800+ pages of book. Let’s go.

Another tale, like Under The Dome, that ruminated in King’s mind since the 70’s but came to fruition in the 21st century. Although the idea kicked around in King’s head for decades, he was daunted by the research that would be required to tell the story properly, so I think he waited until he was swimming in that sweet sweet money to hire a research team. Per usual, I am speculating.

But King did have a research assistant on this book, that much is true. He also consulted with the likes of Doris Kearns Goodwin, a treasure of American history, who gave King some real fun ideas about what might have happened if JFK had lived. The research was obviously thorough, and like it or not, you sure learn a lot about real-life Lee Harvey Oswald in this work of fiction. You’ll also squiggle in your seat through reminders of racism and hate that lived out loud in the 60s, different but also the same as we see today. History doesn’t change everything.

King has said that the extensive research and reading he did to prepare to write this story confirmed in his mind that Oswald acted alone. While it’s fun to imagine conspiracy theories of magic bullets and a second shooter, if King believes, I’m inclined to believe. If QAnon has taught us anything, it’s that Americans love a conspiracy theory. If Jack Ruby hadn’t shot Oswald in that parking garage, we may have learned what actually happened on November 22, 1963. If Oswald had gone to trial and had been placed under oath. If his last words weren’t about how he was a patsy. If, if if. Maybe Jake should have stopped worrying about stopping Oswald and stopped Ruby instead.

So, yeah, Jake Epping. Our hero of this tale. He’s a writer that teaches and lives in Maine. I mean, if I had a dollar for every time I started a book summary with that sentence, I’d have like $10 bucks and I probably go buy myself a fancy coffee of something.

Jake’s a teacher and loves hamburgers! Who doesn’t. He get’s them cheap at his favorite diner, from the proprietor named Al Templeton, who harbors a pretty rad secret that he’s gunna toss onto Jake. Now, why Jake? I mean, I don’t really know. Al doesn’t have any family and Jake is young and unattached? I suppose at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter, because Jake, like Frodo Baggins before him, is off on an adventure.

Because Al’s diner is actually a portal back in time. We all suspend some disbelief - it’s some version of a thinny (maybe?) that plops you from present day back to 1958. The rules are this: however long you spend in the past, you can return to the future just 2 minutes after you left. Al says there’s no impact on quick trips - Al’s been going back and forth for years buy ground beef for his cheap burgers - but when you do something that might change the future, the past will push back. We learn that Al is very, very wrong, but more on that later.

Al’s set out to save John Fitzgerald Kennedy from his head exploding, but the past gave him lung cancer and he didn’t make it to ’63. He’s back in the present and ready to tag Jake into the ring to get back to the fight for him. Jake hesitates but not NEARLY enough. Seriously, if some stranger told you had to go back in time, follow around a total assmunch for 5 years and live WITHOUT CELL PHONES OR NETFLIX?? I don’t care how delicious the root beer in 1958 is. Fuck that.

Jake goes. A couple times actually. He’s first interested in saving Harry, the high school janitor’s family from being murdered, which is a real noble cause. The past gives him diarrhea, and he wears a diaper to take out the bad man. He fails the first time (diarrhea), heads back home to “reset”, and back to 1958, succeeding the second time around. Sayonara douche.

We cross paths with Beverly and Beep Beep Ritchie in Derry, where Jake spends a fair amount of time in 1960. The town is dark, creepy and troubled, and Jake hates being there. Little interconnected web of the King-o-Verse is always there, and I love every second of it. 

Jake heads to Dallas to wait on Oswald, realizes he hates it (lol, fuck Dallas-Fort Worth), and moves out to the country instead. He gets a nice little job and meets a librarian, and our heroine, Sadie. Sadie’s got some real baggage in the form of a psychotic ex-husband (men are mostly the worst in this book) but her and Jakie fall in love anyways. She’s a well written, strong female lead and I haven’t loved a female King character this much since Lisey.

General consensus is that the mid-section of this book is that it drags a little bit, but I couldn’t disagree more. Sure, does Jake putting on a big theater production have literally anything to do with Lee Harvey Oswald? Nope. But I loved all Jake’s time in Jodie, Texas. He falls in love with Sadie, they are lovely and happy, and albeit doomed because of time travel, it’s a wonderful distraction from all the heaviness.

That said, PLEASE Stephen King, DON’T WRITE SEX SCENES LIKE THIS. ::Monkey with hands over eyes emoji:: The sex stuff is awful. There’s a lot of broad references to Jake and Sadie’s love life, like “She looked. Then she touched.” Gross.

Exhibit B:

She said, "Don't make me wait, I've had enough of that," and so I kissed the sweaty hollow of her temple and moved my hips forward ... She gasped, retreated a little, then raised her hips to meet me. "Sadie? All right?"

"Ohmygodyes," she said and I laughed. She opened her eyes and looked up at me with curiosity and hopefulness. "Is it over, or is there more?"

"A little more," I said. "I don't know how much. I haven't been with a woman in a long time."

It turned out there was quite a bit more … At the end she began to gasp. "Oh dear, oh my dear, oh my dear dear God, oh sugar!"

Guys, this passage was from Sadie’s FIRST TIME. She comes? And Jake notices there is blood on the sheets afterwards. But she orgasmed. Yeah ok, sure.

Other than poorly written Harlequin romance passages, the rest of the story clips along with lots of fun (and not so fun) bits, leading the the culmination of Jake (spoilers) killing Oswald. Sadie dies in the process and it is heart wrenching. But at least the world got saved?

WRONG. Another gripe is this; Jake goes back to 2007 and it’s a fucking post apocalyptic wasteland. Nuclear war has ruined the globe - Jake somehow crosses paths with Harry the janitor, who gives him a 5 minute synopsis of how everything went to hell. It is TOO SHORT. Why do we spend so little time here? I want more dystopian future.

We also get a brief bit about how each trip back isn’t a real “reset” - each one triggers a new “string” or parallel universe. Al’s diner isn’t the only passage, and anyone that has read the Dark Tower books gets it. Al was dumb and Jake was dumb, and at the end of the day Jake resets the past and saves this new string from nuclear fallout but you know those poor souls that were on that timeline are still fucked?

Anywho, the end is lovely and King changed what he originally planned (which was lame) at his son’s suggestion. Good job Joe Hill. Maybe I’ll read some of his books someday.

So that’s 11/22/63. This is the latest in King’s bibliography that I have already read, so I’m headed into the last 20 or so novels without any spoilers at all. I still haven’t even let myself watch The Outsider on HBO yet.

Speaking of adaptations, Lisey’s Story on Apple+ starts airing on Friday. Will be watching and hope that it is better than The Stand.

9/10

First Line: I had never been what you would call a crying man.

Last Line: Then the music takes us, the music rolls away the years, and we dance.

Adaptations:

A Hulu miniseries! They did 2 seasons of Castle Rock, so they’re a-ok in my book. Anything not produced by ABC is a-ok with me. I watched it when it aired and it was pretty decent IIRC. I’ve started rewatching, but only made it through the first episode so far. It’s a hard rewatch knowing what a creep James Franco is. And his fake goatee in the first 30 minutes is the actual worst.

The show takes its own liberties with the plot which is fine; Jake gets a partner in crime named Bill; without Bill we’d have a lot of internal Franco monologue I’d guess. The show is well cast and well acted, and has an 8.2 on IMDB, so it’s doing a lot better than most King projects.

James Franco channeling his inner Annie Wilkes.

[richonnejustdesserts]

Teacher’s Pet : A Richonne Round Robin Fanfic

A small town sheriff and preschool teacher find love thanks to the cutest little matchmaker around. [RATED: T]

Chapter 5  (written by @queencoles)

“You okay, Dad?”

Rick briefly shifted his eyes from the road before him to his son sitting beside him in the front passenger’s seat of his truck and nodded. “Yeah.”

“You sure?” Carl pressed, “You’ve been acting a little off lately.”

Rick huffed a laugh, shaking his head lightly. “Just have some things on my mind, that’s all,” he replied, hoping that would satisfy his son.

And for a moment it did, Carl fell silent and Rick continue to drive the short journey to Lori’s home. He lifted his gaze to his rearview mirror to check on his daughter who was adorably slumped over in her carseat.

“Is it her?” Carl asked, breaking the silence once more. “Judith’s teacher. I saw you talking to her again at Glenn’s the other night.”

Rick gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, altogether surprised yet not at all by his son’s perceptiveness. “You saw that, huh?”

Carl shrugged and grinned, “I mean, you never looked at any of my teachers like that.”

“Guess not,” Rick returned with a chuckle as he pulled into his ex-wife’s driveway. He cut the engine but instead of getting out he turned to face his son. “I like her,” he said, deciding it was best to cut straight to the chase with this one.

Carl nodded maintaining an unwavering eye contact that almost unnerved his father. “I figured. You gonna ask her out?”

“Would it bother you if I did?” Rick sent back, tilting his head slightly as he did.

Carl actually took a moment to think about it then finally shook his head. “No. She seems nice and Judith already loves her so…”

“I know, that’s a part of what’s been on my mind.”

Carl’s expression was contemplative. “What’s the other part?”

Rick bit down on his lower lip, unsure if he was prepared to divulge much more than he already had. “It’s not something I can walk into lightly, Carl,” he tried to explain.

“After Mom, you mean?”

Rick tried and failed to school his features. He exhaled through his nose and nodded once. “Yeah.”

“You should talk to her about it,” Carl offered, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Even though Rick knew he was right, he was still hard pressed to think of a more awkward conversation to have. “I know.”

Carl lifted his gaze and inclined his head in the same direction. “No time like the present.”

Rick reluctantly followed his gaze and sighed. Lori was standing in the open doorway, arms folded over her chest and a look of confusion on her face. Probably because they were still sitting in the car.

“Yeah…”

Carl smirked and nodded but didn’t say anything more as he got his belongings together and hopped out of the truck’s cabin. Rick followed suit, taking his time to circle around the truck to collect his daughter.

“Hey Mom,” Carl greeted as he made his way up the steps.

Lori pulled away from the door to meet him, running her fingers through his growing hair. “Hey baby,” she returned, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Did you have a good time?”

“Always,” he said with an easy smile before going inside the house.

Lori smiled after him then turned her attention to Rick and their sleeping daughter making their way up the porch steps. “How long has she been out?” she asked when they were near.

“Since the minute we pulled onto the street.”

Lori grinned knowingly as she rubbed her hand up and down Judith’s back. “You want to tuck her in?”

Rick hefted Judith a little and nodded. “Yeah. Do you have a minute after? I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Lori’s brows furrowed at that. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he assured her, lifting his gaze to the starlit sky above them. “It’s a nice night, think we can talk out here?”

Lori nodded and he made his way into the house and up the stairs to tuck in their baby girl. She  was curious about he had to say especially because whatever it was made him seem a little nervous. A small part of her wanted to go ask Carl what they had talked about in the car, thinking that had something to do with it, but she decided against it. Instead she choose to take a seat on the top step and wait for Rick to return.

It didn’t take too long. Just long enough for Judith to undoubtedly wake up the minute she placed in her bed only for Rick to coax her back to sleep with his rendition of a lullaby. Lori had witnessed the routine often enough herself to know the run down.

And after a few minutes the sounds of his worn cowboy boots had made their steady return down the steps. When he opened the door he exhaled deeply as he came to take a seat next to her.

“Johnny Cash?” she guessed.

Rick chuckled and shook his head. “George Strait.”

Lori hummed in approval and took a deep breath as a gentle breeze drifted over them. A comfortable silence fell over them as Lori waited patiently for Rick to say whatever it was that was on his mind.

“You ever think about dating again?” he suddenly asked without preamble.

Lori blinked and turned to him. “Rick, I thought we decided a long time ago that we’re much better as friends.”

He laughed which made her laugh but she still wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed. “Not each other,” he amended, “but overall.”

Lori shrugged, biting down on her lip with a thoughtful expression. “I haven’t really thought about it,” she said, “but I suppose if the opportunity ever presented itself I wouldn’t shy away from it. Have you?”

Rick nodded and Lori leaned over to consider his own contemplative expression when her eyes widened in realization.

“Rick, are you…?”

“I asked someone out,” he said, finally.

Lori gasped and immediately shifted to face her ex-husband. “Oh my God, who? Do I know her? Dear God, of course I have to know her in this town. Just tell me it isn’t that Jessie woman from Owl Street.”

Rick watched in amusement as she rattled off words before he could say anything. He had expected this conversation to play out in a lot of different ways but her sudden enthusiasm on the matter was not one of them.

“No, not the Jessie woman from Owl Street,” he confirmed with a small smile.

Lori visibly relaxed. “Good. Well? Who is it then?”

“Michonne Anthony.”

The moment he said her name Lori’s curiosity returned to genuine surprise. “Miss A? Judy’s teacher?”

Rick nodded again.

“Wow,” she breathed, “How’d you manage that?”

It was Rick’s turn to blink. “Excuse me?”

Lori nudged his shoulder with her own and laughed. “Just saying, the woman is gorgeous.”

Rick couldn’t help but nod in agreement.

“She’s also Judy’s teacher,” Lori added as she thought over the arrangement. “And Judy loves her so if you do this you should take it seriously.”

“I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t,” Rick told her.

Lori smiled knowing that to be true. Rick was anything if not a noble man. Knowing that about him made Lori curious about something. “How long did you stew on this before you finally asked her?”

“Would you believe me if I told you the night I met her.”

Lori sighed, a knowing smile in place as she leaned back on her hands. “You mean the parent-teacher night?”

Rick nodded.

“Doesn’t surprise me at all,” she easily returned as she sat up a little, “So you’ve already asked her and I’m assuming she said yes. So clearly you’re not looking for permission but I am glad you told me.”

Rick looked over at her. “What you think matters to me, Lori,” he told her honestly.

“I meant what I said, Rick. We’re much better off as friends but I know you’re a good man. And if this plays out right with Miss A. then I’m sure she’ll find that soon enough.”

______________________________________________

Michonne was settled on her living room sofa, a stemless glass of merlot in one hand and a well worn copy of Sacred Woman in the other. She quietly was enjoying her last peaceful night before the rush of Monday morning rolled around again.

Until her peace was disturbed by the ringing of her cell phone on her kitchen island counter behind her.

She closed her book and set it on the coffee table before standing to retrieve the device, smiling at the name and face that appeared on the screen.

“Hey Mama,” she greeted warmly as her mother’s face popped up.

“Hey baby,” Mrs. Anthony replied with an identical smile.

“I called you earlier, I thought you’d be in bed by now.”

“Nope, I’m just getting back in with your Daddy, see,” Mrs. Anthony swiveled the camera around and Michonne saw the familiar layout of her family’s living room where her father was sitting in his designated chair, relaxed but still dressed in a nice tuxedo.

“Hey baby girl,” the older man greeted, waving with his signature evening cap of cognac in hand.

Michonne peered into the phone and grinned. “Hi Daddy, you look nice. Where have you guys been?”

The camera swiveled back around to her mother. “The High had a cocktail party for the new exhibit they’re debuting. Your father had tickets,” she explain, pulling the camera further away so Michonne could see her dark blue wrap attire for the evening.

“Wow, you guys showed up and showed out,” Michonne complemented, “Who was the featured artist?”

“Harmonia Rosales. She has amazing talent, honey, we have to go back when you come up for a visit,” Mrs. Anthony told her.

Michonne nodded, returning back to her own living room to retrieve her glass of wine for a refill. “Absolutely, I’ve seen her work. She’s incredible.”

Mrs. Anthony seemed to mimic her actions, moving into her own kitchen and setting her phone upright on the counter to free her hands to pour a glass of her own. “Enough about us. How have you been?”

“I’ve been doing well. Really well, actually. I think this was a good move for me, Mama.”

Mrs. Anthony seemed pleased to hear this. “That’s good, baby. I’ll admit I had my concerns but I’m happy you’re happy. So, do you like the school? The students? Have you made any friends there yet?”

Michonne laughed at her mother’s eagerness. “Yes, yes, and yes. I adore my students, switching back to younger kids was a refreshing change. They’re absolute darlings.”

“Oh good,” her mother said visibly relieved to learn that the transition was going well.

Michonne noted this. “You don’t have to worry about me, Mama,” she said, able to see the concern that still lingered behind her mother’s eyes.

“I’ll always worry about you, Michonne, you ought to be used to it by now.”

Michonne laughed under her breath, knowing that to be true.

“So what else is new? Anything exciting happening in Kings County?”

“Well,” Michonne began debating for the millionth time whether or not to disclose this bit of information to her mother, “there is something.”

Mrs. Anthony did not miss her hesitation, she inclined her head a little. “You mean someone,” she assessed immediately. “Who?”

Michonne blinked not expecting her mother to have picked up on that so quickly. “Oh my God, Mama.”

“Mother’s intuition,” Mrs. Anthony quipped, “ tell me all about him. How did you meet?”

“He’s the father of one of my students,” Michonne explained, immediately biting her lip while gauging her mother’s response.

“I see,” Mrs. Anthony replied carefully before leveling a look. “Single, I hope.”

Michonne tried not to take a offense knowing her mother only had her best interest at heart, but honestly… “He’s divorced.”

Mrs. Anthony nodded thoughtfully. “Be careful with that, baby. If you think Atlanta gossips wait till you experience the run of the mill in a small town.”

Michonne agreed with her on that one. “I know. It took some time for me to open up to the idea but…I really like him, Mama.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Mrs. Anthony asked plaintively.

Michonne hid her smile behind the rim of her wine glass, taking a sip before saying, “We’re going out next weekend.”

“Well I look forward to hearing more about him then, what’s his name?”

“Rick, Rick Grimes.”

“That sounds like a cowboy name if I ever one one!” Mrs. Anthony laughingly replied.

Michonne joined in her amusement. “He is like something right out of a John Wayne movie, in a charming way.”

“Don’t tell me he goes around in cowboy boots and riding chaps,” Mrs. Anthony joked.

Michonne burst into a fit of giggles. “Well I haven’t seen any chaps,” she said and her mother laughed along with her.

“Oh lord, now I really can’t wait to hear more about him.”

Michonne was about to say something else when her father’s voice sounded from the background. “What are y’all two in hearing giggling about?”

“None of your business,” Mrs. Anthony immediately replied, looking off screen at her husband. “Just girl talk.”

Michonne heard her father grunt but didn’t inquire further. “Well I better let you go. I should get ready for school tomorrow anyway.”

Mrs. Anthony rolled her eyes but smiled. “Oh please, like you haven’t gotten lessons planned out for the week already. But all right, I’ll let you go. Wouldn’t want you to miss a call from Cowboy Rick on account of me.”

“You are too much, Mama,” Michonne returned lightly.

“And just where do you think you get it from? But go on, we love you, Michonne,” her mother told her sincerely.

“Thanks, Mama. I love you both, kiss Daddy for me.”

Mrs. Anthony blew a kiss into the phone before disconnecting the line.

Michonne sighed contently as she finished off the remainder of her wine, thinking to herself that this was definitely shaping up to be a good move for herself after all.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

[glittergummicandypeach]

Rejecting parents’ religion: parenting advice from Care and Feeding.

Care and Feeding is Slate’s parenting advice column. Have a question for Care and Feeding? Submit it here or post it in the Slate Parenting Facebook group.

Dear Care and Feeding,

All my life I have raised my child Christian, and now as she moves on to college and has a boyfriend, I’ve got it out of her that they are atheists. It devastates me, but I also know it is up to her to get her salvation.

The above statements are what I know my parents feel. I am the atheist child.

What do I do to help my parents feel less crushed? I know they only want me to accept God again, but I just don’t believe. I understand their faith, I just don’t want them to continue to feel hurt by seeing me.

As I move on to hopefully marry someone who agrees with me on my views, I feel they will continue to be devastated. And, will cry tears of agony instead of joy if they attend my wedding.

I know my views could change, but I seriously just want to hear what I can do to lower their agony.

—Child Turned Away

Dear CTA,

You are a kind and gentle person. I’m actually very touched by the concern you express for your parents’ feelings. It indicates they are not being total D-bags to you about the situation, which is great, but also complicated: When parents are being total D-bags about your loss of faith (which may not be a loss for you), it’s a lot easier to tell them to pound sand and move on with your life. When parents just seem fragile and sad about it, a lot of protectiveness and misplaced guilt can kick in. Fragility and sadness can also be very effective tools of control. Don’t feel like you have to apologize, equivocate, or take on the burden of their sadness.

You’re no longer a child. You’re their child, but none of us get any guarantees about our children, I can assure you. I’m a generic Protestant who is pretty into it without being an evangelical, so my lovely and mega-progressive shit-stirring Catholic mom is only mildly disappointed I’m on the JV squad of God and not playing varsity, and my lovely atheist dad is mostly bemused, as he really did lay out a great case for Only the Sweet Release of the Cosmic Void Awaits Us All (frequently a very comforting thought in its own right). They’re fine. I have no idea if my children will turn out to want or seek or find faith. I believe in God and that one day the circle will be unbroken, but today I cried for (checks watch) almost 45 minutes about John Prine dying, so it’s certainly not a magic balm that eases all lives and has the power to protect us from the fear of death. Religion can be a real motherfucker, as history past and present shows us.

My answer is that I want you to try to first release this weighty sense of obligation for their feelings that so clearly presses on you. You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t burn down their garage. They have experienced a form of loss and that’s for them to work through. But you do feel a sense of obligation to lighten their load, and I want to acknowledge that and offer some words of help.

Don’t dangle any “well, who knows what the future holds?” carrots in front of them. If a burning bush speaks to you, you can handle that when it comes. Expectation management is one of the true keys of human existence.

You are a person with values. Some of those values probably came from your parents. You can thank them for those values, if they have helped you become the good person you clearly are, without needing to buy into the belief system that provided them to your parents in the first place. You can talk to them about your own values. You do not have to be the Best Atheist in the World Who Cares About All Living Things and Climate Change and Systemic Inequality Every Single Damn Day; you can just be yourself. You’re the same kid they had last year. A good person.

You can also, down the road, absolutely say, “If you are gonna cry tears of agony at my wedding, don’t come.” That’s nonsense. If they try to win you back to Christ with teary phone calls in the more immediate future, you can say, “Let’s talk in a few days when you’re calmer.”

Just be yourself, all of yourself, be gentle but firm, maintain boundaries when necessary, and love them the best you can. That’s all anyone can do. I also encourage you to be aware of your own sense of loss, if you ever do perceive it as such, and to seek help from secular counselors if you need to process it. That doesn’t have to mean “I miss believing in God”; it can mean “I am sad that my natural progression as a human who lives in the world has affected my most foundational relationships and need to mourn that.” I’m glad you have found meaning and happiness in your life, and I wish you all the joy in the world.

Dear Care and Feeding,

I have a 4-year-old son who hums loudly while eating food he really enjoys. My husband thinks this is inappropriate behavior at the table and is a problem to be corrected. I see absolutely nothing wrong with it and assume he will grow out of it. He’s a completely normal delightful/crazy-making 4-year-old.

I don’t want my husband wasting quality time with his son harping about something that doesn’t really matter. Am I wrong on this?

—Loves a Pleasant Tune

Dear LaPT,

Oh, what a deliciously small problem, thank you so much for this. Honestly, at 4, I think your husband is right that it’s time to phase out loud vocalizations during dinner. (If your son has any markers for any developmental issues other than joyous food humming, and it turns out to be a verbal stim, I would probe that first, and I would be more inclined to let him enjoy his humming.) In the absence of such a reason, it’s not going to go over great at school, it’s clearly annoying the heck out of your husband, and I enjoy tremendous numbers of things I cannot do in front of other people at a sit-down dinner. It does not have an impact on my human flourishing, I assure you.

I don’t think “please do not hum at the table” is “wasting quality time.” It’s just parenting. He’s not going to look back on his life and say, “If only the two weeks it spent me to get my kid not to sound like a bumblebee when we had stroganoff for dinner could have been spent tossin’ the old pigskin around.” This will be over quickly, and you will barely remember it. If your husband is the only aggravated party, obviously you can expect him to be the “no humming” point person on this. You do not have to chime in, but I would encourage you not to actively undermine him in his quest, which is always a mistake for nonabusive familial situations.

See, too, if there’s a way he can take this musical impulse and do something a little less disruptive with it. I don’t mean “get him a harmonica,” but he might enjoy learning to sing. Exchange the behavior for a more productive one, if possible.

Congratulations on being an excellent cook! If your husband is the excellent cook, please pass on my compliments.

• If you missed Thursday’s Care and Feeding column, read it here.

• Discuss this column in the Slate Parenting Facebook group!

Dear Care and Feeding,

Just like everyone these days, I fear COVID-19. I’m staying at home, going to the store only when necessary, etc. My boyfriend is a police officer, and although I know he is very cautious, I’m worried about him unintentionally infecting me due to him having to work and human interaction. I have an autoimmune disorder and have repeatedly told him these concerns, yet he still comes over daily. He knows it’s serious but at the same time thinks it’s completely overblown. I’ve been clear that I do not agree. He’s taking it personally which floors me. I’m at a complete loss on how to handle this at this point.

—Losing It in Longview

Dear LIiL,

I need clarity on one point: Have you told him directly that he needs to stop coming to your house? Because if you have, as opposed to just telling him you’re worried and concerned about your autoimmune condition and the possibility of exposure, then he is in direct violation of your personal autonomy and you need to a) break up with him and b) carefully, as he clearly does not respect a “no.”

If you haven’t said, “I need you to stop coming over until things are under control,” then you need to say it now, today, and if his response is that you might as well just break up, that’s his choice. If he continues to violate your wishes, see the above paragraph. Our essential workers are essential, but so is your health.

I am not a dating columnist, but you came to me and here I am. I do not like this situation for you.

Is It OK to Go to the Zoo During the Coronavirus Pandemic?

Dan Kois, Jamilah Lemieux, and Elizabeth Newcamp host this week’s episode of Slate’s parenting podcast, Mom and Dad Are Fighting.

Dear Care and Feeding,

I’m not doing well. Are other parents doing well? I feel like the only person drowning when I see Instagram posts of learning-and-chore charts. I have to “work from home” with two small kids, and there just aren’t enough hours in the day. We do our best to do the remote learning we’re given, but some days it’s “let’s read a few books and then watch educational shows on Netflix.”

—I Feel Like a Schlub

Dear IFLaS,

We live in strange times, as did all previous generations at one point or another (Joni Mitchell spent weeks in a polio ward with essentially zero contact with her parents when she was 9 and still wrote “The Last Time I Saw Richard” eventually). You’re doing fine. Instagram is a lie. Be kind to yourself, do your best, and remember that every other kid is going to eventually return to school in a slightly more feral state and will need to catch up on things. The teachers know this. It’s just reality. You do not have to be a superstar; you just need to get through this. I also feel like I’m dropping the ball constantly, and I’m supposed to be a professional.

We’re in this together. Most kids have two months of essentially no education every summer, and yet they manage to grow and flourish and learn. One year where every kid gets double summer is not going to amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Younger kids, like yours, are going to barely remember this.

I let my kids watch part of Thor: Ragnarok yesterday. We’re all just making it through the day. My friends who are teachers are struggling just like everyone else. I think you’re great.

— Nicole

More Advice From Slate

My loving, kind boyfriend of five years has spent the last 10 months in prison. He was off to a great start in his profession when a friend snitched and he got in trouble for possession with intent to distribute an illegal drug (that is legal one state over). He is now getting out of jail in his early 30s with more than $180,000 in student loan debt, a felony conviction, and is losing his professional license. We have stayed together during this ordeal, and luckily my family and friends are very supportive. I love him dearly and can’t wait for him to be home, but as his release date gets closer, I am starting to have a return of some of the anxiety symptoms I began having after his arrest. I work full time in a field I am very passionate about and could eventually be employed by the government. I am worried about how his record will affect me in the long term. I also sometimes feel that I am being a real idiot for staying with him due to his poor decisions. However, I am crazy about him, and we have so much fun together all the time. Any advice?

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